


so read your books (but stay out late)

by rvspberry



Series: filled up with smoke [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Character Study, Dream Sharing, Dreamwalking, Eventual Romance, Families of Choice, Getting Together, Good Babysitter Steve Harrington, Good Parent Jim "Chief" Hopper, Good Parent Joyce Byers, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Misunderstandings, Neil Hargrove's A+ Parenting, Period Typical Attitudes, Pining, Post-Season/Series 02, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Hatred, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Steve Harrington Has Low Self-Esteem, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington-centric, Touch-Starved, Tutor Billy Hargrove, Underage Drinking, more tags to come, self-deprecation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-04-24 22:55:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22244380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rvspberry/pseuds/rvspberry
Summary: It’s his senior year of high school when Steve finally realizes he needs to get his shit together — he just never pictured Billy Hargrove being the one to help him pull it off.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: filled up with smoke [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1606078
Comments: 75
Kudos: 333





	1. Understand

**Author's Note:**

> Canon compliant through season 2 and this rewrites the months leading up to season 3... and honestly rewrites a lot of the background info of some characters which will in turn rewrite some of the events of season 3.
> 
> Title taken from “Bruised” by Jack’s Mannequin.
> 
> And now that all of that shit is out of the way, please enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rework: 12/2/2020.

It started as an accident, a month after the confrontation at the Byers’s house - a month after Steve fought monsters he never could have imagined. A month after he’d dragged himself, alone, to the hospital to get stitches on the inside of his lip, split painfully from knocking into his teeth when Hargrove landed his fist time and time again, to get painkillers for the rest of his beaten face, and a directive to rest yet no doctor’s note to get out of school. A month of nightmares about not helping the kids fast enough, about the Demodogs ripping through the town, about the kind of world that the Upside Down really was. A month after everyone at Hawkins High knew Hargrove handed his ass to him, and a month of Hargrove avoiding him everywhere except during practice, and even there Hargrove fails to give him the kind of mouthy hassle he had before.

(Something had happened happened that night after he’d been beaten unconscious, something between Max and Hargrove, but Steve hadn’t been around to see it and no one seemed to want to talk about it. Having Hargrove off his back for once was nice, even if the junior did tend to stare when he thought no one else was looking.

...Maybe Steve had been looking back.)

Beyond that, during school Steve keeps his head down, asks the guidance office for a fucking tutor of all things, then actually voices his worries of what his life would be like after graduation. And according to his counselor, Ms. Goldberg, college isn't his only option; there are trade schools, the army, or even the police. It's too late to do anything to really help his chances of getting into a good college, if he wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps when the man isn't even around. His grades the first semester of senior year were awful; even now, in December, there isn't much he could do except pull his Fs up to Ds and his Ds to higher Ds to, hopefully, transform all of his grades into Cs over the course of the following semester. His grades from his previous years weren’t amazing in the least, but solid Cs are better than anything he's had to show for the past three months. 

After talking about his grades seriously for the better part of an hour, Ms. Goldberg sets him up with a tutor to meet before school started since Steve has basketball practice after classes end.

And when he pushes into the classroom the following morning for his first tutoring session - at the asscrack of dawn - he sees Hargrove sitting at a desk with a couple of books and looseleaf paper clipped in a binder and pen and a pencil. He looks the part in all but the jean jacket and half-buttoned shirt and the earring that dangled as rebelliously as Billy Hargrove  _existed_. Steve nearly turns around and leaves with the way his stomach clenches in nervous apprehension. Surely Hargrove's going to use this as fodder for more of the teasing that had started months ago, some sort of spark to reignite the aggressive fire that burned Steve into a bloody mess on the Byers’s floor.

But, as usual, he's wrong.

Hargrove's actually a very good tutor. He explains things in a way that make way more sense than most of his teachers do teaching him for weeks. He's actually good at all the subjects Steve needed help with, not just a few of them, and even while he helps Steve with his Spanish homework, Hargrove himself is taking French classes. Hargrove helps him understand how to take proper notes, and teaches him acronyms and stupid little songs to help memorize math equations, and uses modern movies and analogies to explain big events and dates in history to help it all stick. It's really impressive and, honestly, more than a little overwhelming, especially since Hargrove continues his non-interaction outside of their tutoring sessions.

“Why do you do this?” Steve asks one day, apropos to nothing. Hargrove stares at him blankly because Steve just surfaced from a mountain of Chemistry work. It's all makeup work. He gestures to the papers around them, and to the books. To the space between them. “The- tutoring thing. Do you get paid?”

“Yeah, and it’s good fucking stuff for college applications,” Hargrove replies, shameless and matter-of-fact as he leans back in his chair. “Shows I’m a real academic.”

“A real academic?” Steve parrots back, then shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head. He can't relate to that, not one bit. “Do you have somewhere in mind?”

“USC,” Hargrove says after a moment’s pause, where he stared at Steve with narrowed eyes and sucked his lower lip into his mouth, “is my dream school. But I dunno if I’ll be able to afford something like that. Probably Indiana University, if we’re being honest.”

“Wish I could make it into Indiana University,” Steve mutters under his breath. It’s not like he has many friends besides the Party, and not even Dustin wants to hear him gripe about grades and school when Dustin is a know-it-all boy genius type. He glances over all the work in front of them and sighs. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, after I graduate. I don’t think I’d be any good at college.”

“Have you thought about the police?” Hargrove asks, seeming half-interested in the conversation and half-over it, which is a combination that is throwing Steve off a bit.

“I-" Steve starts, then stops and frowns. He’d sort of tabled that idea when Ms. Goldberg first suggested it, thought about asking Hopper, but he hasn't seen him much lately. “Kind of. It’s come up before, but I’ll... it’s not a bad idea, so I’ll think about it more.”

Steve frowns again, brow crinkling with thought. The suggestion coming from someone else, a peer of his who is in fact smart enough to get into college, makes him think about it as a viable option. Something he could choose to do, if he wants to. He turns to look at Hargrove fully. “Thanks, Hargrove. For all of this.”

“Consider it a repayment,” Hargrove says, giving him another intense look, and Steve's just about to ask what Hargrove intends to repay when it hits him.

_ For not breaking my face again. _

“And call me Billy.”

“Oh.” Steve scratches at his jaw and tongues the inside of his lower lip where the flesh was still a little sensitive, a little tender. Thinks about last month when Hargrove almost split his lip straight through with a few repetitive punches. “Yeah, okay. I understand.”

“Yeah?” Hargrove asks redundantly, a little smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. Steve wants to smile back so he does. Gives Billy a soft smile, something small but warm.

“Yeah,” Steve affirmed. “Of course, Billy.”


	2. Confront

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rework: 12/2/2020.

Steve is the type that doesn't back down from confrontation, though he’s never been the type to seek it out, either.

If there's one thing his father had taught him early on, it was to never back down from a fight. To hold his own. That particular lesson had been when a Steve was twelve, a good three weeks after he’d gotten into a fight at school and came home with a black eye. Instead of sympathy, he received a “talking to.” By the time his father deemed it necessary to have this "talk," the black eye had since faded to his normal skin tone, no signs of any violence on his body. It was more of a dressing down, if you asked Steve, but neither of his parents ever asked his opinion on anything, much less their style of discipline. His father was full of advice that came too little, too late. It had stuck with him regardless.

It’s why Steve hadn’t backed down from Hargrove when he’d shown up at the Byers’s house. It's why he’d tried his hand at fighting someone so out of his league. Someone so incredibly violent and aggressive. Steve didn’t have any outlandish ideas that he’d kick Hargrove’s ass to kingdom come, but he did think he’d land more hits, and he certainly didn’t think he’d be passing out. He knew better than to back down again. To be less of a man. That had been back in October.

Now it’s edging towards the end of December, and Steve’s driving Dustin to the Snow Ball and giving Dustin tips, wishing him well. He spots Nancy inside and feels his stomach clench. It still smarts, when he thinks about all that happened between them - the break up, her practically falling into Jonathan's arms after, seeing them around school, losing his friends because he’d put so much into their relationship... too much, to be honest.

It couldn’t be a good idea to put all of yourself into another person, could it? Steve knows he had with Nancy, and even if it was just her not being a good fit, with someone who would be, he had to retain parts himself, too. He had to set, like. Boundaries.

He scrubs a hand up the back of his neck, careful of his hair, as the realization comes over him. He needed to know his own boundaries, needed to respect the boundaries of others, as well. To Steve, it seems a little too mature a thought for idling in the parking lot outside the Snow Ball, waiting to pick up Dustin once he‘s ready to go home - playing chauffeur and part-time babysitter to all the kids Dustin hung around with paid decently. He’s a fucking babysitter, for crying out loud. He’s not old enough to have profound thoughts.

Steve’s not much of a smoker but he kind of craves one now. His fingers itch, a lighter in his pocket only by chance; it's not a staple to keep around like the nail bat in his trunk. He looks out into the parking lot of the middle school and his eyes catch on a familiar sight on the other side of the parking lot where the cars are sparser. His lips twitch.

Steve is out of the car and walking across the pavement before he really knows it’s happening, feet carrying him along like his body knows more of what to do than his head... An accurate fact for many situations in Steve’s life, in fact. He raps his knuckles on the window gently, not wanting to hurt Billy Hargrove’s precious Camaro and endure any kind of wrath. He’s been spared thus far, but that didn’t mean anything at all when they still weren’t speaking outside of the tutoring sessions. Steve has to remind himself nearly every day that unshared looks are not conversations.

The window rolls down about two inches and a plume of smoke billows out from the darkness of the driver’s seat.

“Harrington.”

“Hargrove.”

A pause, and another inhale of a cigarette that always seemed to be fixed in Billy’s mouth. “I thought I told you to call me Billy.”

“Well, then you should be calling me Steve,” he countered, leaning back against the car next to Billy’s with his hands casually stuffed into the pockets of his jeans.

“Alright, _Steve_. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Billy says it tauntingly, tone harsh as it ever is, but there’s a smile edging up the corner of his lips, a smile stretching across his mouth to expose his teeth.

(Steve idly wonders if Billy ever needed braces when he was younger, because Billy’s teeth are kind of perfect.

So is his smile, which Steve only gets to see once in a while during tutoring sessions when something - some fact or analysis or equation or date in history - sticks with him. It’s been happening more and more recently. Steve doesn't want to admit that Billy's smile is a better motivation than grades.

He may need a tutor, but Steve is smart enough to never say that out loud.)

“-the fuck do you want, anyway?”

Steve blinks back into the conversation and his hands move from his pockets to fold across his chest. He shrugs. “Saw you over here. Figured you might have a cigarette I could bum.”

“Always needing something from me,” Billy grumbles, but he starts rooting around and a cigarette appears through the crack in the window.

Steve reaches for it and watches it fall to the ground as Billy purposefully lets it go before Steve can grab it. While Billy snickers inside the car and another cloud of smoke drifts out, Steve rolls his eyes hard and drops down to grab the cigarette.

Good to know that  _ some _ aspect of Billy's old dickish self still resides inside him.

Standing back up, he goes to grab the lighter from his pocket but Billy’s rolled his window down all the way and is holding out a lot Zippo, brushed metal looking warm in the calloused grip of Billy’s tanned hand. Steve is still for a moment, shocked, utterly shocked really, and then takes a short breath and leans in. Lights the end to a cherry red and inhaled deeply as he stands back up.

“Thanks, man,” Steve mumbles after exhaling a pleasant lungful of smoke.

“You babysitting tonight, _Steve_?”

Steve narrows his eyes and looks down at Billy, who is still staring straight ahead as if completely indifferent to Steve’s presence. It drives Steve a little crazy, but Billy left the window down and it’s chilly enough out that he didn’t have to, could have kept his window up and just ignored Steve the whole night. Didn’t have to offer him a light, either. He's only wearing a leather jacket and those leather fingerless gloves from all the way back on Halloween. California boy in his first Indiana winter and he’s sitting here talking to Steve in the cold.

Steve isn’t in the place to pick that apart. Is it even worth picking apart?

“Yes,” he answers honestly, looking up at the night sky. Even with the glow from the lights in the school parking lot, they’re far enough away in Hawkins that the view is fairly unspoiled. It rained that morning but now the skies are clear and the stars are out winking; he hasn’t really looked at the night sky in years, not like this. “Not a bad gig, though.”

“I can’t imagine being around tweens for that long,” Billy groans, rolling his head against the headrest, and finally his eyes snap to look over at Steve. “They’re all so fucking annoying.”

“Listen, they're not bad kids,” Steve protests, shaking his head and taking a quick drag. He points the fingers still holding the cigarette at Billy. “So, like, just leave them alone, Billy. Especially Sinclair. You’re acting like a-”

“-A racist bastard?” Billy tosses back and Steve snaps his mouth shut because, yeah, that’s exactly what he was about to say. Billy scoffs and taps the ash off the end of his own cigarette then pinches the cherry out with his fingers. “Man, you’ve got no fucking clue, do you?”

“A clue about what?” Steve asks, throwing his arms out. He’s almost finished his cigarette and takes the final puff before tossing it to the ground and stomping on it. “How the fuck would I? It’s not like we talk outside of tutoring. I know jack shit about you, Hargrove.”

“_Billy_,” he corrects, his tone angry but his face calm. “Fucking- don’t call me fucking Hargrove, man. That’s my old man.” Billy passes a hand over his face.

“Okay. Billy. Fuck, that’s what you’re taking away from this? Christ. Just leave Lucas alone. He’s a nice kid and doesn’t deserve the shit you gave him.”

“You don’t... you don't get it.” Billy's jaw is clenched tight, his eyes glaring at the wheel of the Camaro.

“Dude, seriously? Explain it to me then, fuck, why can’t you just-”

“We had to move here, you know? Because I fucked up, back in California.” His voice is shaky, and Steve shuts the fuck up. “I had a girlfriend who looked like Lucas. Black. It's whatever, right?” Billy laughs hollowly and stares out over dashboard again. “She was gorgeous and smart and her parents kind of liked me. Tolerated me, I guess. But my old man, he caught me when he came to grab me from school. I didn't know he was even waiting after basketball practice, but..." Billy grips the wheel, fingers curling tight around it. "Neil taught me a fucking lesson about it. Went on and on about the types of people you can hang around. I don’t want him to catch Max.”

_"I don’t want him to teach her the lesson too"_ goes unspoken, but Steve hears it like Billy's saying it out loud.

Steve blinks dumbly as he processes all of this honest and completely new information. He hadn’t been expecting a confession of any kind when he walked over here, hadn’t expected to bring up Lucas, but maybe the time they’ve been spending together every day before classes is paying off a little.

“It’s fucking- complicated, Harrington. _Steve_.” Billy sighs after he corrects himself, then angrily taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “Living with him, it does things to you. He’s different. Has been since my mom died. The way he fucking treats you... it turns you into a monster.”

Steve licks his lips, leans forward so he’s bent down with an arm propped at the top of the window. Looks into Billy’s blue, blue eyes.

“You’re not, though. You’re not a monster.” Steve knows his voice is soft, maybe a little too soft, but he’s trying to comfort Billy. Steve's parents aren’t a dream, but they don’t teach him lessons that leave him jittery. The isolation is a bitch, running the house alone and fending for himself sucks, but the lack of companionship and company is what really gets him, what keeps his chest aching every holiday that passes where he doesn’t see them. But they don’t do what Billy’s father so obviously does to him. “You wouldn’t take pity on me and tutor me if you were a monster. You’ve been... kinda nice, actually.”

Billy snorts out a laugh and rolls his eyes to look away again. “Yeah, nice. You’ve got low standards.”

“Nicer than your old man.” Steve’s still speaking quietly. It’s a moment just for them. Billy looks over at him sharply. Melts a little after a moment. Looks real fucking sad, yeah, but he’s looking at Steve again. Locking his eyes with Steve’s own. 

“I hope you never have to meet him,” Billy breathes into the stillness between them.

“Me too, Billy,” Steve mutters, knocking his knuckles twice atop the car. He gives Billy a small, sad smile in return. “Me too.”


	3. Widen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rework: 12/2/2020.

He should expect the radio silence after the dance. A confession like that? It’s too tender, too close to home. Too real. They barely speak during tutoring sessions unless Steve has a question that only Billy can answer... In part because he doesn’t want to bother Billy, and in part because Billy puts his headphones over his ears and tunes him out, doing his own work and reading and effectively ignoring Steve once the senior is set up. The entire week is like that. 

They have to move to another class with actual tables because of the geography assignment Steve has been struggling with all week requires more space than even two desks pushed together. It’s the last big assignment before they’re off from school for two weeks.

"Are you doing anything over break?" Steve asks, flopping down at the table next to Billy. It’s the first non-assignment-related talk he’s tried for since Billy spilled his guts on Saturday.

And, look. Steve is actually interested in the answer. They’d had something resembling amiable before their little spat or whatever in the parking lot, and Steve has already heard rumors of three separate New Years Eve parties. He’s looking forward to attending all three, getting wasted on other people’s shitty beer and maybe trying to take back his keg stand record. Why not live it up before graduation?

He’s also hosting a little holiday get together for that gaggle of kids he babysits, too much pop and pizza and ice cream and candy and holiday movies, which will probably mean they’ll get through The Grinch and A Christmas Carol before the kids whine to put something gory horror flick on since their parents aren’t around. And of course Steve does, because Steve is a _cool_ babysitter. All of the Party plan on coming, even Eleven and Max. Technically Hopper pays him for keeping Eleven out of trouble (as much as Steve can when she’s around the rest of the Party, at least) by not ticketing him when he speeds, and offering him shooting lessons that seem a little pointed, but Steve isn’t sure of what Hopper is pointing to besides, like, protecting El and the kids, which does make a lot of sense.

Billy’s got the end of a pencil between his teeth, nibbling on the metal below the eraser while he scanned notes for his own classes. While Billy has been ignoring him a lot unless he’s needed, Steve has actually gotten to the point where he can do his own shit, just needs supervision and redirection when he can’t get something quite right, or when he gets off track.

"Cathy’s party."

"That’s all?" Steve arches an eyebrow and smirks. "Not Rebecca’s or Charlie’s?"

There are probably some Christmas parties coming up too, but those are usually smaller. More exclusive. Tight-knit friend groups of people who simply want to spend time together. Just as much alcohol as any other high school party with the added bonus of dumb Christmas sweaters and sprigs of mistletoe hung everywhere to give them excuses to lock lips with one another. Steve used to host a Christmas party every year before he got with Nancy. Now, it’ll be him and the kids eating candy and pizza. 

His life has become something he never could have predicted, but it’s _nice_. His life is so very different since the supernatural shit got involved, but he wouldn’t change it back.

Billy raises an eyebrow at the mention of the other parties. "Getting back into the social scene, King Steve?"

Laughing outright at the nickname, Steve shakes his head. "Man, you’re the only one who calls me that, you know? And no. Just looking to blow off some steam before I have to really hunker down and grind out this schoolwork crap before I graduate."

"I get that."

"People _are_ kind of, like, being nice to me again."

(Sometimes Carol talks to him in class, or in the hallways, usually with a snarky tone and smirk on her lips. But she asks about how his lip is healing up without the smirk from when he'd yelled at her, and Steve asks how her parents are doing because they used to send casseroles with Carol when she would come over. Tommy mostly doesn’t make practice a living hell anymore, pretty much ignores Steve, pointedly does not look in his direction or talk to him, but makes sure to mutter _"good work"_ in the locker room before he leaves. Party invitations come back from guys and girls alike. He has a lunch table where the rest of the basketball team sits and shoots the shit and challenges each other to throwing their trash in the bins across the walkway without a teacher noticing. And, okay, maybe Billy had been right the other night when he said that Steve has low standards of nice, but Steve blames his parents for that little flaw.)

Billy shifts uncomfortably in his chair at Steve’s comment about people being nice to him. Steve can’t tell if it’s because Billy is sometimes nice to him now, too, or if he’s thinking of the times when he was awful to Steve. Does that matter anymore if Steve’s willing to forgive him?

"I’m going to all three, but you should really come to Rebecca’s for the countdown," Steve says, taking out the maps he’s supposed to be marking up with the legend provided on the assignment paper. He grabs a pencil from his backpack. "She really goes all out because her parents go skiing the week of New Years every year."

"Rebecca lives out in Loch Nora, doesn’t she?"

"Yeah. She lives down the street from me."

"Hmm." Billy seems to be thinking about it, but then writes something down on his notes and makes it very clear that he’s not even listening. Steve feels a little empty for some reason.

"Just think about it." Steve shrugs it off, noncommittal. Doesn’t know why he’s insisting. Doesn’t know why some part of him even cares about seeing Billy over break.

"Why don’t you get to work on your map, Bambi?"

Steve screws his face up, effectively distracted from trying to convince Billy to come to the party. "Bambi?" He’s confused. Billy’s face cracks open into a smile.

"Have you seen your eyes, Harrington? Like a baby deer."

"It’s Steve," he says softly, trying to fight back the flush threatening his cheeks and not understanding why it’s coming on at all. Is it because Billy just complimented him? Is Steve blushing like some girl because Billy said his eyes looked like a baby deer’s? Fuck, that can’t be right.

"Nah, it’s Bambi," Billy says instead, and his smile widens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter written out, so many more to go. This will probably end up being part of a series.
> 
> Kudos and comments keep me alive!!


	4. Thirsty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for underage drinking and recreational drug use. Just smoking some weed, though.
> 
> Chapter rework: 12/2/2020.

Steve stops by Cathy’s party first because even though Billy isn’t there yet, at least he’s put in his face time. Cathy’s just happy to have some people show up that aren’t just there to get absolutely shitfaced in the pool house. And Steve likes Cathy well enough, she's sweet and she hands him a bottle of beer when he gets there, and she had invited him after all. But Steve knows he needs to end up at Rebecca’s house by midnight. That much is set in stone. Rebecca has kegs, okay, and Cathy has a sweet face and a nice pair of legs, but the pool house is small and there's only a few people there. After a couple of drinks, he kisses Cathy’s cheek and leaves for Charlie’s.  
  
Charlie's party is a little wilder, spanning the lower floor of the small suburban house. Here, Steve drinks more, shares a joint with Brad from Chemistry, gulps down another beer, checks the clock and nearly curses when he notices it’s past eleven. He calls out goodbyes and feels a bit more like himself, his old self, minus the posturing and bullying and bigoted behavior and shit, when some people call out goodbyes and obligatory wishes of "Happy New Years, Steve." His goal used to be social climbing and it’s not anymore, but having people around who want him around? It’s a good feeling.  
  
He pulls up to Rebecca’s place, less than half a mile down the road from his own house at the very edge of town, and parks his BMW behind a black sedan. There are dozens of cars in the street, and on the lawn, and in the long driveway winding down from the street to Rebecca's house. The front door is open, perpetually calling out for party-goers to come and join in the revelry. He can hear music thumping from inside and spilling out over the grass. Steve tucks his cigarettes into his pocket. He picked up the habit more recently, actually has a brand he prefers and a gas station he buys them from. It’s one habit that helps the nightmares fade when he wakes up shivering, a habit that gives him something to do with his hands besides having them flit nervously to his hair.  
  
Inside the house, Steve knows that the part is in full swing because there are at least three drinks spilled onto pristine cream-colored carpets, and a person passed out on the couch. Rebecca’s already making out with someone from where she sits on the dining room table, skirt rucked up her thighs.  
  
Steve greets some guys from the team, all back slaps and handshakes, and he's nothing but smiles when Carol actually gives him a hug. It feels like a declaration, like she’s welcoming him back to her little inner circle, this little show of friendship. It’s nice.  
  
They talk shit about teachers for a good ten minutes over diet sodas mixed with vodka, because that’s the cheapest shit and easiest to get a hold of by teenagers, before someone slaps a hand on his shoulder and squeezes.  
  
Steve turns his head to glance over his shoulder, surprised and not when he recognizes Billy. And he looks good tonight. He looks good every time Steve sees him, sure, but he definitely put extra effort in tonight. It’s doing weird things to Steve’s brain to see him standing there, a dark shirt mostly unbuttoned with that pendant on display, leather jacket over it, tight blue denim stretching over his thighs.  
  
"Hey tiger," he greets, using a new nickname with absolutely no context, but it slips off his tipsy tongue before he can pull it back in. He doesn’t know why. Steve licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry out of nowhere; he’s feeling mighty thirsty even for all that he’s been drinking tonight and sort of needs to piss. "You came after all, huh?"  
  
"Mm, heard you stopped by Cathy’s earlier," Billy replies with a non-answer. His hand finally falls away from Steve’s shoulder and he presses in next to him, joining in on his conversation with Carol. Or, he would be, but Carol’s beat feet in search of Tommy in the crowd. "Was hoping I’d see you there. But this? This is a fucking party, man. You know your shit."  
  
"I know my parties," Steve corrects easily. He doesn’t know his shit. He’s fucking dumb and failing most of his classes, which is how he and Billy even became... what, acquaintances? Not-quite-friends? At least Billy is talking to him in front of other people. At least _people_ in general are talking to him in front of other people. "And this is the fucking place to be on New Years Eve, man." He looks down at his cup but it’s empty, so he shakes it tellingly and tilts his head towards the kitchen. "You need a drink and I need a refill."  
  
They’re chatting about Steve’s assignments due after break, easy and casual as anything, leaned on the counter in the kitchen, when Tommy finds them. Claps a hand on either of their shoulders.  
  
"Keg stand off." They both look at him as if he’d grown another head, so Tommy backtracks with an ingratiating smile. Ugh, Tommy is such a fucking snake sometimes. Steve is happy he got out of that crap when he did. "Rebecca’s got four kegs out back! Keg stand competition?"  
  
Billy’s lips quirk, smile small and taunting, but not nearly as rude as it usually is, and he glances over at Steve who takes a deep breath when their eyes meet. Billy licks at his lower lip, and Steve can’t help but let his eyes follow the movement. Why does he feel so hot all of a sudden? "What do you say, pretty boy? You up for trying to break my record? Trying to beat me?"  
  
Steve smirks, and he’d say it’s all bravado but he’s actually really good at keg stands. And Steve doesn't back down from a fight, even if he’s outnumbered or out of his league.  
  
"Sure thing, amigo," he tosses back. Their eyes are still locked while he finishes up the rest of the beer in his cup, crushes it in one hand and tosses it to the side where the trash can is damn near overflowing with bottles and cups. "I’m feeling thirsty."  
  
Half the house is out back on the porch ten minutes later, cheering and chanting them on as neither of them back down, too proud, too competitive, having too much fun. Steve didn’t know that Billy could be this much fun. Parties have become less and less of Steve’s thing the farther into senior year he got and the farther from his old self he grew to be. But tonight? He’s actually having a good time and not worrying about impressing everyone around him; he’s not trying to at all. He’s just... having some fucking fun. Cutting loose.  
  
It’s been a while since he’s been able to.  
  
His thoughts go offline while he’s chugging, doing his best while Chad and Hunter hold his legs, Tommy and Craig holding Billy’s, and Carol’s got both keg hoses in her hand to feed them beer. Steve zones out, stops thinking, and starts drinking. He craves the excitement and the cheering and even the good-natured ribbing from Tommy and Craig while Chad and Hunter give it right back to them, even as the words blur into background noise.  
  
He feels like he’s starting to belong again, and not in the fake way he had before.  
  
He stops thinking for long enough to miss Billy tapping out, long enough to beat Billy’s record, and the final loud cheer as he passes it by two fucking seconds rings loud in his ear and he finally taps out.  
  
Steve is panting by the time he surfaces, feeling fuzzy-brained and a little out of it, but happy. So happy. He's smiling again, and this time it's genuine, not put upon, not forced, no fake veneer of happiness and unshakable confidence. Now his confidence comes from the fact that he’d faced some of the scariest shit from another fucking dimension, and had made it out alive. So he can’t help but smile widely, belly full, when Billy claps him on the shoulder, cracks up when Billy belches loudly and jeers that Steve won back his crown, and everyone around them cracks up too when Steve’s laughter is interrupted by his own extended burp.  
  
It’s a good night.  
  
He stumbles out of the front of Rebecca’s place two hours past midnight and is feeling generally loose-limbed and fucking _good_. He’s so good right now, because the party is winding down and last New Years he’d been roped into helping clean up the bathroom while Rebecca cried over spilled punch in the living room. He has a soft spot for crying girls - fucking sue him.  
  
Steve doesn’t expect Billy to trail outside behind him, bumping their shoulders together amicably.  
  
"Knew King Steve was still in there somewhere," he jibes, but the smile on his face is warm, relaxed. Billy is usually so intense all the time and seeing him like this is a shock to the system.  
  
"Dude," he groans, rolling his eyes. "C’mon. Stop with the King Steve shit."  
  
"What’s wrong? Rather be called by your proper title?" Billy’s smile is all fang. Dangerous. The streetlight casts a yellow glow and Billy looks... Steve licks his lips and cocks his head to the side, trying to refocus his thoughts. "Princess."  
  
Steve wants to roll his eyes but just laughs and laughs; he reaches out to brace a hand on a bit of fence near the sidewalk as he doubles over. "Fucking hell, man. You have all sorts of nicknames for me, don’t you?"  
  
Billy just smiles and shrugs a shoulder.  
  
"You headed back to yours?" Steve asks, patting his pockets and finding his keys. He tosses them from one hand to another as he leans back against his car. "Was thinking ‘bout walking back to my place. My parents aren’t home."  
  
He doesn’t know why he lets that little fact slip out. It almost sounds like he’s trying to put moves on Billy, but he’s not. He swears he's not. Steve just- he likes Billy’s company. He likes being around Billy. He never thought he would see the day, but as he lives and breathes, there Steve stands in the middle of the street wanting nothing more than to prolong his time with Billy during what had turned out to be a great night.  
  
And Billy’s, like, cool with him now.  
  
"Oh yeah? Why didn’t you have a party then, pretty boy?"  
  
"Because I don’t feel like cleaning vomit out of the carpet," Steve answers easily, wincing at the memory of his mother asking what the stain was when she and his father had gotten home after the last Christmas party he’d thrown, and he’d had to lie and say he spilled a can of pop and tried to clean it up himself. "Why not let someone else do the hard work?"  
  
"Glad you’re not that way with your homework," Billy says, tongue between his teeth, and Steve laughs and shoves into his side playfully. They both know that Steve actually does his schoolwork these days. "You’ve come a long way in just a few weeks, you know? It’s almost impressive."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Rub it in my face," Steve snickers, rolling his eyes. He hates that his image is that of a dumb jock - it used to include being top dog in school, but Steve knows that popularity is worthless - just a dumb basketball player. "I’m trying and that’s about all I can do."  
  
"You’re doing good, pretty boy," Billy says encouragingly and knocks his elbow against Steve’s arm. It’s cold out and they’re both wearing jackets but Steve swears he can feel the warmth of Billy’s body in that brief press. "Really. You just need direction."  
  
"And redirection. And focus. And refocus," Steve lists off. They’re more words that come from his dad, that judgmental hardass. He puts Joseph Harrington far from his mind. "But I’m glad it’s you as my tutor. You’re really good at it."  
  
"A good teacher needs a good student," Billy tosses back with an easy smile, and it hits Steve in the gut to see it.  
  
He doesn’t know why, but it gets him somewhere between his stomach and his heart, all butterflies and pleasant shivers and the kind of tingling that comes from attraction. From a crush.  
  
Steve swallows as they walk up his driveway, Billy chatting quietly about the upcoming basketball game after break ends and Steve bobs his head like he’s listening, and he is... kind of.  
  
Later, once Billy has crashed in the guest room and Steve is laying in his own bed in nothing but his boxers, he’s still thrown by that feeling he got when Billy smiled at him. Still thrown by Billy’s smile.  
  
He falls asleep with butterflies in his stomach and a realization aching in his chest.


	5. Admire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta-read by the fabulous[ phaesporiamuse](https://phaesporiamuse.tumblr.com/) who not only read this chapter, but also gave me really amazing feedback! Also she’s an amazing writer so go read her story! Thank you so much for all your help, my dear.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](https://lostnoise.tumblr.com/) now so you can check me out there and send me a Harringtove prompt if you’d like.
> 
> Today is my birthday and I’ll be in Disneyland for the rest of the day so here’s a birthday treat from me to you readers.
> 
> Get ready for some angst.
> 
> Chapter rework: 12/2/2020.

Steve doesn’t exactly avoid Billy after that, can’t really avoid a tutor he sees for an hour before school every fucking day, much less a teammate he sees for practice after school twice a week, but he kind of lets up off of trying to... befriend him. To get closer, at least, because they’re friendly enough now. Steve doesn’t want Billy to _know_.

And Steve is having a rough time of coming to terms with the fact that he- he likes Billy Hargrove. It's easier to simply acknowledge that he’s fucked. Completely and utterly fucked.

Small town boys who like other boys don’t last long if they’re not careful.

He doesn’t talk much in the tutoring sessions, keeps his eyes on his paper and only asks questions without looking away from his work.

He’s taken to scarfing down his lunch with the rest of the team, horsing around with playful shoves and snickers and barbless jibes. He avoids meeting Billy’s gaze across the cafeteria, without fail, then he hangs out with Nancy and Jonathan in the library and works on his senior essay.

(It doesn’t hurt to be around them anymore, and the shared trauma of fighting monsters from another dimension bonds people in ways Steve never thought possible. They trade jokes and tease each other, and when Nancy and Jonathan sneak kisses he doesn’t even cringe anymore. Steve is proud of himself for that. He wouldn't say they're close friends, but they're all friendly, and that's the most Steve could ever ask for.)

He hides his newfound distance under the guise of buckling down for schoolwork, and - as far as Steve can tell - Billy is buying it. So is everyone else, really. No one ever thought they’d see Steve Harrington trying to do well in school, but stranger things had happened in this stupid small town. He plays the part of a student devoted to their studies, and he plays it well.

Really, though, it’s all a carefully constructed ploy to keep himself from admiring Billy fucking Hargrove.

The only place he can’t really avoid him is during basketball practice when Billy’s shirtless and golden as he darts around the court, covering Steve from behind and being pushy and murmuring teasing remarks under his breath. Before, that would have made Steve laugh or roll his eyes, but now Steve finds his breath catching in his chest at the cadence of the other boy’s voice. It’s distracting. It’s thrilling.

And it’s fucking terrifying.

It’s early February and Steve’s managed to pull his Ds into high Cs. He’s even pulled his Fs into low Cs just by doing his homework, turning in assignments, and, like, participating in class. He’d never known that it was so simple to do well in school, and though he likes where his life is now and wouldn’t change the past, he does regret getting his shit together so late. The Hawkins High basketball team is 4-0 in their games. Carol comes over to his table every day at lunch to talk about their weird teacher since they’re in the same World History class. Tommy actually talks to him in the locker room. He’s got friends again, no one close who he can confide secrets to, but more genuinely this time since it’s not under the fake facade of popularity and pressure. He’s got Nancy and Jonathan, who he likes and who like him as he is. Billy doesn’t hate him, gives him high fives in the hallway between classes, smirks in his general direction, doesn’t threaten to beat his face in. They’re pretty much friends now, and he could lose that.

If his secret got out, he could lose it all.

~

The day before Valentine’s Day, Dana Barrett sits next to him in homeroom and bats her eyelashes at him. Steve blinks back at her, honestly confused by her sudden presence. He’s been using homeroom to work on another assignment - extra credit work for English, which is, hands down, his worst subject. He and Dana haven’t really spoken before, he hasn’t gone to any parties recently because he really *does* want to get his grades up, and they don’t have many mutual friends... only Carol, but Carol knows everyone and is distant friends with most people.

Usually because she likes to collect secrets. For as much as Nancy wants to make it as a writer and helped crack open the case to get the lab shut down, Carol would make a great reporter one day.

"Hi?" Steve offers Dana, a confused frown turning his lips down in the corners. He straightens up from where he’d been hunched over his work.

"Hello," she practically purrs, and leans across her desk as if to get closer to him. It pushes her breasts up and out, and puts them on display even in the white sweater she’s wearing. Steve blinks and tries not to look too obvious in glancing at them, but her knowing smirk tells him he’s failing. And, look - he’s a healthy boy and hot girls are _hot_. He can’t help it. "Steve Harrington. Steeeeve. You’re not seeing anyone, right? What are you doing tomorrow night?"

"Homework?" He’s still confused, because everyone knows that Steve’s been studious to the max. Steve has been drowning his worries in schoolwork. Ploy, distraction - why not both? It's been working in his favor. "And, uh, no, not right now, I’ve been busy."

Dana laughs and reaches over to lay a hand on his arm. Oh. Oh, shit, he gets it now. She’s interested in him, wants to go on a date. And to think, he used to be able to put moves on girls. He wants to roll his eyes and sigh but he fights back the urge. He used to date a different girl every month, took them back to his big, lonely house on the outskirts of town, had them coming back for more every time. Now, he can’t even pick up on flirting.

Steve blames Billy and school, in that order.

"Dana," he starts, wincing. "I’m not really... I don’t have time for a girlfriend right now."

"It doesn’t have to be serious," she says quickly, biting her lip, but the tone of her voice says she’s disappointed in his reaction. Wants something serious.

"Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day," Steve says flatly. Not serious and Valentine’s Day do not coincide. He sighs. Pats Dana's hand on his arm and pushes it away. "Sorry, Dana. I’m not interested." Her face falls, and she sighs and turns away dejectedly. Steve pauses and cocks his head. "But I think I heard Joe from basketball say he thinks you’re cute."

Her eyes sparkle and a devilish little smile curls at her mouth. "Oh really?"

"Sure," Steve says, and Steve is thankful he’s not under the threat of her attentions any longer. Joe hadn’t said anything about Dana, but he was dumber than Steve and chased anyone with a skirt. "Just tell him you’ve had your eye on him and he’ll be eating out of your hand."

In the showers after practice that afternoon, Joe brags about how he asked Dana Barrett out for Valentine’s Day because she confessed that she’d been admiring him from afar for weeks now. Joe gets congratulated because, honestly, Dana is gorgeous and drinks like a fish, can hold her liquor with the best of them. Steve is even dumber for turning her down, he knows that, but he has more on his mind than merely homework. He knows it’s probably better for him to try to get this... _"thing"_, or whatever, he has for Billy out of his system, but getting a girl tangled up in that isn’t fair to her. Isn't fair to himself, either.

He’s smirking down at the floor, stepping into his sneakers, when he feels a nudge to his side.

It’s Billy - Billy’s elbow, to be exact - and he’s got a curious look on his face. "What’s so funny?"

He looks back at Joe, who currently has Vinnie in a headlock and the rest of the team cheering them on in their little mock-fight. Steve shrugs, smirking to himself, and turns to Billy with a quiet voice. "Dana tried to get me to go out with her tomorrow during homeroom, and I told her that Joe said he thought she was cute."

"He's never said that to me," Billy says, frowning, and Steve smiles knowingly until Billy’s eyes go wide, and Billy’s eyes are so blue, and his grin is so big that Steve has to look away and pull his jacket on to not be caught staring. Because it's quite the sight, Billy grinning. Billy amused. "Oh _shit_, Harrington, you played matchmaker!"

Steve is smiling at his shoes, nodding and shrugging his shoulders. "What can I say?"

"Well... why didn’t you want to take her out?"

"It’s Valentine’s Day," he repeats, rolling his eyes. _"It's all bullshit"_ is on the tip of his tongue, but Steve swallows it down. "Girls eat that shit up, you know? They make it into something more. And I don’t have time for that right now. I’m really doing better with my classes and my grades are coming up, and, like, practice and the games take up a lot of my time, and I’m babysitting or hanging with Dustin otherwise, so like, when am I going to have time to fit a girlfriend in there?"

Billy takes this at face value and nods, leaning against the locker next to Steve’s. "Makes sense." He licks his lower lip, stares at Steve. It’s strangely electrifying, being on the receiving end of Billy’s intense focus. "Plenty of bitches in the sea, Bambi. If someone catches your eye, though, you should go for it. You’ll make time for someone if they’re important enough."

Steve has to look over at Billy then, lets himself admire the other boy in silence and in secret for a long moment, and just shrugs his shoulders again.

"Yeah, you’re probably right," he says. The words feel empty. He feels a little caught out by the statement and fumbles for his backpack to throw the strap over his shoulder. "Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow morning for tutoring, yeah?"

"See you then, Bambi."

"Later, tiger," Steve laughs, tossing the parting words over his shoulder so he doesn’t have to look at Billy head on. Otherwise, he won't ever bring himself to leave.

~

He’s driving in the BMW down Main Street when he parks outside the general store on a whim. The front window's been decked out in Valentine’s Day decorations - red and pink hearts, white lace doilies, signs indicating sales on chocolates - and it re-emphasizes that he’s alone. He’s never been alone on Valentine’s Day before, but now... Now he feels lonelier than ever, and it’s only the 13th.

Steve wanders into the store, still out of it and stuck in his own head, when a familiar face pops up.

"Hey Steve! What brings you in today?"

Joyce comes over from the register with a big smile on her face. Ever since Steve took on the role of babysitter, he’s probably seen more of Joyce Byers in the last three months than he’s seen his whole life. Has seen more of her in the last three months than his own mother. She’s sweet, and scrappy, and as scary as any mom can be, and Steve kind of loves her, kind of wishes she was his mom. Joyce in turn treats Steve with kindness and respect, especially after she overheard him encouraging Will to continue with his art. He’s invited over for dinner every Sunday, but Steve doesn't like imposing. He only ever attends if Dustin is already going and needs a ride.

"Just looking, Ms. Byers," Steve tells her, giving a little wave and an even smaller smile. He turns his head so he doesn’t have to pretend to smile in front of her, and hears her sigh very quietly.

"How many times have I told you to call me Joyce?"

He laughs softly, still doesn’t turn around though. "Okay. Joyce. I’m just looking."

"Well, if you need any help, you know where to find me."

He nods, and then his eyes finally find the Valentine’s Day section. There are cards, fake roses, stuffed animals holding little felt hearts, heart-shaped boxes of chocolates, and all sorts of little themed trinkets. It’s all very comprehensive in the half-aisle the display takes up. Steve licks his lips, and impulsively grabs one of the boxes of chocolates. It’s not heart-shaped but it is red on the outside, and it sort of makes Steve feel less alone. He’s treating himself, right? Not like he has anyone else to do it for him. Even if he’d taken Dana out, it would have been all about impressing her to get into her pants, and Steve sort of… wants more than that.

More than _just_ that, at least.

He takes the box of chocolates over to the register and digs around in his jacket pocket for his wallet before handing Joyce a ten dollar bill and the box.

"I didn’t know you were seeing someone," she coos softly, ringing him up and starting to count out the change. "I’m sure she’ll like this. It's a new relationship?"

"Um, no," he hedges. Rubs the back of his neck nervously. "It’s... I’m not seeing anyone. I’m buying it for myself."

Joyce gives him a knowing look and grins. "Sometimes it’s better to treat yourself," she tells him gently, going back to counting the change. "You’re still young, you know. You have plenty of time to enjoy yourself and get to know yourself before you need to worry about relationships."

He bobs his head in a nod, over-enthusiastic, and longs to be back in his car. This was a dumb idea but Steve’s already committed and he still takes his change and tucks that away, grabs the bag from her. Smiles softly. "Sure. Thanks Joyce."

When he gets home, he groans as he crashes on his bed, face first into his pillows. He feels so lame when he looks at the red box morosely. It sits on his bed mocking him.

Steve throws it away without touching a single chocolate.

Because, well, what he wants... what he really wants... he wants to give those chocolates to Billy. He- he likes Billy. He _really_ likes Billy, like, the kind where his chest feels too small for his heart when he hears Billy laugh, the kind where Billy’s quiet teasing when Steve does finally crack and speak to him gets him blushing during their tutoring sessions, the kind where Steve's becoming addicted to Billy's smile. To making him proud when Steve gets an answer right by himself, or planting his feet when Billy gets a little tougher on the court. It’s heady and satisfying and intoxicating, and he has a _fucking crush on Billy Hargrove_ who beat his face in three and a half months ago.

He can’t face anyone right now, shame and embarrassment curling in his gut, and he might be alone, like always, but he drives out to the quarry, sits on the hood of his car, and takes a deep breath. So much had happened in the last few months that Steve couldn’t process, and yet this is the thing that’s nagging at him, slowly eating away at his heart.

Steve can’t be outed at school. Can’t be known as the queer of Hawkins. Can’t have his dad find out that in addition to being a total failure in his academics, he’s a failure in society too, a failure to the Harrington legacy. It’s bringing him down. All of it is bringing him down, and he feels so low.

He always thought he’d stay in Hawkins, but now he’s thinking of the wider world out there. He knows bigger cities have bigger populations of people like him - the gays, the queers, whatever - and he chews his lip to think about the things he’d read from article headlines in his father’s newspapers. Chicago isn’t that far away. New York. Maybe... maybe he could go west? San Francisco is known for their openness, right?

His heart aches at the thought of leaving Hawkins behind even as it soars thinking of the freedom that would bring. Leaving Hawkins means leaving the kids, leaving his friends, leaving Hopper who has been a clumsy and reluctant father figure to him, leaving Joyce - the Party mom - who always checks in with him and who still gives him little dishes to take home as payment for watching Will. Leaving behind his feelings for Billy, because he’d never feel for Steve the way Steve feels about him.

Steve gets it, okay? He gets that this is what happens to people, that they start getting feelings for someone they’ll never have a chance with, and Steve's known it had to feel shitty. But he never thought it’d feel this bad. It's not like Steve has never gotten rejected by someone out of his league. Nancy Wheeler is the prime example of that. But for someone he could never touch? Someone so out of his reach that it feels like they're on separate planets?

Fuck.

One deep breath turns into five, into twenty, into a hundred, and he counts until he can’t count them and the sun is down and it’s too cold to continue sitting outside unless he wants his shivering to get even worse and chance getting sick. He cranks up the heat with stiff fingers, teeth clattering loudly in his mouth, and waits until he’s no longer shaking violently to make his way back home.

Driving back through town, Steve keeps his mind as empty as possible. He can plan more for his future tomorrow. He needs to go home, and sleep, and recharge from the fucking disaster the last few weeks have been.

His eyes catch a sign as he’s coming into Hawkins proper.

‘Starcourt Mall: Coming this summer!’


	6. Compounded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta-read once again by the amazing[ phaesporiamuse](https://phaesporiamuse.tumblr.com/). Thank you so much for allowing me to use you as a soundboard and encouraging me when I’m nervous about my ideas for this series.
> 
> CW: emotional/verbal abuse, touch-starvation, and the Harringtons being all-around shitty people.
> 
> Chapter rework: 12/4/2020.

Steve’s been wallowing in quiet guilt, ashamed of the feelings hiding in his chest. Now, those feelings take on a mind of their own, almost as if ignoring the absolute danger he’s putting himself into by acting on, well, anything related to how he feels about Billy.

Steve finds new excuses to get close to him... Pushing his notebook closer to get help with a particularly difficult math problem so he can press his knee against Billy’s leg. Knocking his elbow against Billy’s to feel the warmth of the other boy’s body. Covering Billy in basketball, pressing up behind him in a way that makes his breath catch, distracted enough by the need to win to not pop a completely inappropriate boner when Billy’s ass pushes back against him. Nor when he presses back into the hard line of Billy’s body behind him and tries not to shiver at the bare skin sweat-sticky where it touches his own. He laughs at Billy’s jokes, shares smiles, growing warmer every day in the opposite way of how he’d pushed Billy away before.

All in all, it’s been a miserable, awful, torturous February.

So of course something unheard of happens at the end of the month: his parents come home for more than two days in a row.

They’re going to be home for two weeks, apparently - getting business taken care of around the house, with their bank accounts, with the trusts and the investments. It’s all very over Steve’s head. He’s proud to understand compound interest nowadays, even if calculating it is a bitch.

Steve comes home one afternoon to a new car in the driveway. He pauses because, at first, his mind flashes to government goons and the non-disclosure agreements he’d signed when the lab was closed. But the front door is unlocked, and he can hear classical music coming from the radio in the kitchen. That little facet definitely confirms it’s his mom who’s home.

When he steps into the kitchen, Steve leans against the door-frame and watches Marie Harrington as she sets about making dinner.

Steve’s mother goes to high end salons every few weeks to hide the gray hairs coming in. Marie is older than other moms with kids his age; Steve was the miracle Harrington baby after years of trying to get pregnant. He would have had a baby sister or brother if his mother hadn’t miscarried when he was three, and again when he was five, and for a final time when was he was nine. It’s partially why he likes playing big brother to Dustin, because he was supposed to be a big brother but fate had other ideas. Marie has the same colouring as him - dark hair, brown eyes - but Steve favors his father otherwise. She’s all class and silk and cashmere, an Indianapolis socialite-turned-trophy wife, old money who married the new money of a successful investment banker. She loves her red wines and her real French-imported champagne, goes to Greece at least twice a year, and refuses to fly in any class besides first.

Steve loves his mother, but she’s so pretentious and so absent that it’s hard to work up any level of emotion seeing her now.

"Hi mom," he greets, still leaning against the doorway.

He crosses his arms over his chest, doesn’t move, doesn’t even twitch his mouth when she turns to him with a swish of her skirt and smiles at him with her dimples showing. She presses a kiss to the apple of his cheek, and he cracks a little, gives her a hint of a grin.

"Hello, Steven," she says, cupping his shoulder and leaning in for a barely-there hug. "How are things?"

(The half-hug/half-lean thing she does is all the rage in Europe, according to Marie, and they must not touch anyone over there beyond what’s absolutely necessary. Steve just wants his mother to touch him in the same kinds of ways he sees other parents showing affection for their children. For all that Dustin complains of Mrs. Henderson’s hovering, Steve wishes he could have even a teaspoon of the attention Dustin gets. The hugs, the words of love, the encouragement. Any of it, really.)

"They’re going," Steve replies. He wonders idly how she’d react if she saw his report card. Wonders if she’d care, if she’d even process the difference, if she’d be able to tell that there’s a difference at all. "What brings you guys home? I thought you were in London until early March."

"No, no, your father had to cancel," she says, flippant in the way that Steve only gets when he wants to distract someone from digging too deeply. He’s a lot like his mother; there's something else there. "Something important came up at the company, so he had to come home to take care of it. Apparently, one of his senior managers quit."

Marie gives him a look, lips pursed, and Steve winces. Joseph Harrington hates when employees quit; he sees it as a personal offense against him of the highest order. The aftermath is when he’s his most volatile and mean. While Steve’s dad has never laid a hand on his son in anger, Joseph wields words like guns and they always tear through Steve like tissue paper. They leave scars that Steve sometimes wishes were physical if only so he could point them out, say to someone, ‘Look what he does to me.’

But words only cut you down mentally. Words don't leave the kind of physical bruises or wounds that would otherwise indicate abuse. It's hard to think of what his parents do as abuse, even though they've discussed it in his health class in junior year - the concept of _emotional abuse._ He'd started sweating so much while the teacher rambled on that he'd asked to go to the nurse and laid down in the dark for a while until his heart calmed.

He’s thankful for his mother’s warning, though, so he’ll be avoiding home for the next foreseeable future until his parents leave. No big deal.

Just, you know, it would be nice if Steve could enjoy not having an empty house for once without worrying about getting his ego bruised and his self-confidence dragged through the goddamned mud. Is that really so much to ask?

Apparently so.

"Anyway, we’ll be going to London in two weeks instead," Marie finishes, turning one of the burners down to simmer. He's kind of proud that he knows what a "simmer" is. Steve is no five star cook, but he knows enough about cooking to take care of himself when his mom is gone. Knows his way around a kitchen, around knives, around different types of meat. He learned from cookbooks and Julia Child, and he's better at cooking and baking than he gives himself credit for. "Dinner should be ready in forty-five minutes, Steven. Clean up and put on something nice. You know how your father feels about dinners."

Steve clenches his jaw and leaves with an aloof _"okay, mom"_ before retreating to his room.

Or, at least, that’s what he wants to do. He has to pass by his father’s study upstairs to get to his room, and even with Steve creeping by as quietly as possible, of course Joseph hears Steve in the hallway.

"Steven," he calls out in this gruff tone. Brooks no argument. 'Come, boy,' goes unspoken, like Steve’s a fucking dog.

Steve stops. His room is only three feet away and yet... he sighs as softly as he dares. Gears himself up. He pushes into the doorway and swallows, eyes glancing over his father as he sits in the expensive leather chair at his desk.

Looking at Joseph Harrington is like looking at an older version of Steve with different coloring. He has sandy brown hair, green eyes, and the beginnings of wrinkles at the corners of his face. There’s a divot between his thick eyebrows, his face permanently stuck in a disappointed scowl. He’s graying at the temples, but Steve knows that, just like Marie, Joseph gets his hair colored to keep him looking young. He’s all name-brand sweaters and pressed trousers, expensive cologne and pipe tobacco; he likes being rich, likes living in the lap of luxury. It’s reflected in every _fucking_ thing he does - from the thick fur coats in which he clothes Marie for winter, to the designer wool coats and leather gloves he buys for himself. He has a house in the south of France, an apartment in Chicago, the Harrington Estate outside of Indianapolis, and the family home in Hawkins. He’s harsh, and cold, and distant, and he's everything Steve hates.

Everything Steve is afraid to become.

"I saw your report card," Joseph begins with no other greeting and affected disinterest, as if trying to get Steve to confess. What to, Steve could only guess. Instead of giving his father the satisfaction of an explanation, Steve just shrugs his shoulders and nods for his father to continue his thoughts - it's a technique that Billy often uses with Steve during their sessions, when Steve gets too nervous to continue. People tend to fill the silence. Joseph sighs and pulls off his glasses. Rubs the bridge of his nose like talking to his son is a headache. And isn’t that something? That talking to a relative, to your own flesh and blood, is a hassle? Steve can fucking relate. "Steven, you know that you can do better."

"I am doing better," he replies. Exhales around his anger. He’s trying not to yell, trying to keep his jaw from clenching. Trying to present as level-headed and authoritative. He’s the one living his life, he’s the one with teachers and counselors and parents on his back to do better. He’s the one who has to grapple with his father’s crushing, debilitating expectations and disappointment. "My grades have never been better and-"

"And it’s a damn shame, too, that you waited this long to get yourself together," Joseph snaps, cutting in to finish Steve's sentence for him with a dark look on his face. Steve clams up, mouth shutting with an audible click, and Joseph looks satisfied at the reaction. It’s like he _enjoys_ bringing Steve down a peg. It’s so fucked up. "I don’t know how you think you’re going to get into college but at least Cs will get you to graduation. Lord knows I can only throw so much money at academia to help you get you by."

He doesn’t bother telling Joseph that he’s not going to college, and that he can keep his stupid money to throw at something else. Another new car, or a trip to France, or… or _whatever_. Anything besides his son, who he throws money at in lieu of actual attention and affection.

"Your mother and I will be heading out after dinner to have drinks with some of my colleagues," Joseph continues like he hadn’t just torn Steve apart with some well-placed barbs. "Please try to get your homework done while we’re gone. And do the dishes. You know how I hate messes."

"Yes, sir," he mumbles, staring at his feet.

"Look at me when you’re speaking to me, Steven," Joseph commands viciously. Steve complies and looks him in his cruel eyes.

"Yes, sir," he repeats louder, back straight and shoulders back and oozing false confidence. He feels infinitely worse than when he first stopped by the study.

"Better," Joseph comments condescendingly. He pushes his glasses back onto his nose and turns back to the work in front of him. Dismissing Steve. "I’ll see you at dinner."

Steve takes his leave silently. Goes to his room, lays down on his bed, and screams into his pillow.

~

Dinner is an awkward and quiet affair, as always. Steve feels so stuffy in the burgundy button-up and silver-gray cable knit sweater his mom got him for Christmas last year. Giving Steve’s khakis a disdainful glare, because they're not proper trousers, Joseph just sighs and rolls his eyes, sipping at his tumbler with three fingers of whiskey.

His father brings up his poor grades _again_ and his mother tuts, giving Steve a look like he could do so much better. As if Steve isn’t doing his best already. As if she even knows what his grades have ever been like. The last time she cared was sophomore year, and even then the best she helped was buying him a book to help prep for the SATs as if that would be any help at all. Joseph makes small jabs about Steve’s hair - _"You look like a hippie, Steven, it’s unbecoming,"_ \- and Steve’s athletic capability - _"Captain is fine and dandy, but you need to be the MVP if you think any college is going to want you to play for them,"_ \- and even Steve’s lack of a love life.

"Whatever happened to the Wheeler girl?" Joseph asks as he knocks back another mouthful. Two fingers left. "Did she finally get tired of you?"

"Joseph," Marie chides, sending him one of her rare glares. It's easier for her to let Joseph get away with whatever he wants than to challenge him and push him into the arms of a second secretary.

"I’m just trying to make conversation, Marie," he defends himself as if he’s not being a total prick. "She was a bright girl and Lord knows why she was with him. Steven hasn’t been seeing anyone as far as I can tell, and if he’s waiting for the college girls I just want to know."

Steve isn’t going to college because he can’t imagine what he’d even study there. Can’t imagine how tormented he’d be getting stuck as a business major because his father would undoubtedly force Steve’s studies in that direction, and then say that Steve forced his hand.

"I’m waiting for the right one," Steve says quietly, not looking up from his plate as he pushes mushy green beans to one side with his fork, and so he misses Joseph rolling his eyes.

He still feels the weight of the action, though.

"You’ll be waiting forever," he corrects, snorting derisively. God, Steve wants to punch his dad in the fucking throat. One finger left in the tumbler. "You know, college girls like smart guys. Sometimes they like athletes. You better step up your game, Steven, or you’ll be single and alone for the rest of your life."

"Joseph!" Marie gasps, like she isn’t expecting the harsh words aimed at their son.

Like this is new talk at all. Like Joseph doesn't routinely talk down to his son. Like Marie gives a single shit about the effect Joseph's words have on her son.

"I’m just speaking the truth, Marie!"

_The truth._ His father’s words are sharp, rock-hard burrs sticking to his ribs, making it hard to breathe without pain. It’s all emotional, all mental. It’s all in his mind. He knows that there’s nothing actually damaging to his insides from words, but his heart aches and his stomach rolls, and not even his mother’s best homemade Alfredo can keep his appetite alive as the final finger of whiskey disappears down Joseph’s throat.

He spends the rest of dinner pushing pasta around his plate and avoiding his mother's fake smiles while his father diligently talks around him. Ignores him the way he always does.

Steve doesn't try to talk lest his father turn his words back around on him. It’s better this way.

~

Steve doesn’t have many friends who he can talk to about his father. He used to tell Tommy about it, back when they were still close. Tommy even witnessed it a few times when Joseph couldn’t hold his tongue in front of company, once Tommy's presence was commonplace enough. Tommy would, in turn, complain about his old man getting a little rough with him, and all Steve could think about was at least Tommy’s father could stomach touching him, in rage and in love. Tommy's dad might have gotten rough with him, but Steve also saw plenty of times when Tommy's dad would hug him. Clap him on the shoulder. Whooping and hollering at the basketball games when Tommy made a good play.

Steve can’t remember the last time his father touched him. A pat to the shoulder when he made captain of the basketball team, he thinks, a year and a half ago. The last time he was hugged, Steve thinks he was twelve and it was for a family photo.

The Harringtons are cold. Calculating. _Fake._ Nothing like the Party, nothing like Mrs. Henderson or Joyce Byers, nothing like Mrs. Wheeler who still gives him warm smiles. Even Mr. Sinclair gives Steve high fives and casual pats on the back when he comes by to pick up Lucas or drop him off.

So Steve makes himself scarce. Drives out to the quarry to sit on the hood and stare up at the sky while his parents go out for drinks. If it weren’t a school night, Steve would have taken Dustin for a drive, shooting the shit and letting the little nerd distract him until it was time to go home again. But it _is_ a school night, and Dustin’s probably fiddling with some contraption he’s working on in preparation for the genius camp he’s going to this summer before Mrs. Henderson comes in and forces him into bed. Steve feels the loneliness in his chest when thinking about Dustin and his mother, a sharpness that stings and aches all at once.

Sometimes, he wonders if his heart is bruised, if it’s some gaping wound in danger of infection, if it’ll rot beneath his ribs from all the damage it’s taken. That’s how it feels on nights like this.

He has no one to talk to about all the crap he can’t get out of his mind, can’t get off of his chest. His shoulders feel heavy with the weight of the world and there’s no one he can offload it onto.

His eyes are stinging with the threat of tears when he hears a car coming up the dirt path. Steve turns halfway, surprised to see Hopper’s truck driving up and parking next to him.

"Harrington," the chief greets as he steps out of the driver’s side and comes to lean against the front. He glances up at the sky. It’s clear out, dark from the new moon. The stars twinkle brightly in contrast. "Nice night."

"Hey Hop," Steve says, ignoring the way his voice wobbles, then shrugs when Hopper comments on the sky. "Sure is."

There’s a long stretch of silence where Steve isn’t sure if Hopper’s about to tell him to scram because it’s too late for him to be out here, or if he’s about to ask Steve to watch El or something. Hopper surprises him when he says, "So, have you thought about those shooting lessons I offered?"

Steve blinks because no, he hasn’t. He’s had so many other things to think about, all the new thoughts and feelings spurred on by Billy, all the old self-doubt and insecurities stirred up from his parents.

He lets himself think about the lessons now.

"You know, my guidance counselor, she asked me if I’ve thought about joining the police after school," Steve confesses.

Hopper looks pleased as punch for a moment before schooling his face into something more curious and less obvious. "Oh, did she? And have you thought about that?"

"My dad wants me to go to college," Steve says instead and picks at his cuticles. "Wants me to get a degree in business. Take over his company. He acts like it’s set in stone and it’s so..."

"Overwhelming?"

"Yeah," Steve breathes, and it’s like some of the sharp, pointy bits in his chest have loosened up a little, like they've gotten a little duller. Because Hopper kind of understands, can give words to what Steve is feeling. Hopper _listens_, even if he doesn't necessarily want to. "It’s overwhelming, there’s so much pressure on me to be just like him and I can’t, and there’s so much going on in my head and- yeah. Sorry. You don't need my life story."

Hopper rolls this over, mouth working like he’s tasting the words Steve has spilled into the night around them. He chooses to ignore Steve's apology. "You don’t have to make a decision now."

"I don’t know if I can stay in this town, Hop," Steve confesses, ducking his head down and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. "It’s not just Hawkins, you know? Not just… the crazy stuff." He gulps. "There’s other stuff going on in my head and I just... I don’t know, I don’t think I can be in Hawkins forever."

"Forever is a long time," Hopper agrees. "Is there somewhere you want to go?"

Steve chews on his lower lip for a long moment. He still worries about breathing life into what's going on in his head, into his hopes and dreams, in case they all come crashing down around him.

"I heard California is nice…" he finally says, reluctant to give his thoughts away. "You know. More diverse. People with different… backgrounds. Different, um. Different tastes."

Steve wishes he could be less awkward, trying to talk around what he means. Hopper gives him a long, silent look, and it makes Steve squirm a little, even if it’s not an uncomfortable silence. It’s not the same condescending look that his father gives him when Steve says something dumb and unattainable, which is nice, but Steve still thinks he’s giving away too much. Hopper sighs and shakes his head. Comes over to stand next to Steve.

"Kid, if you want to go to an academy, I can call and give you a good recommendation wherever you decide to settle," he tells him, and reaches out hesitantly to clap a hand on Steve’s shoulder. Hopper isn’t affectionate with anyone but Eleven and Joyce, and sometimes Will. It’s weird but it’s more reassuring than any gesture his parents have ever given him. "And California is a lot more tolerant than Hawkins."

Steve feels his mouth go dry and his stomach flip and nausea courses through him. Hopper knows, _fuck_, Hopper is too smart for Steve’s own good. He stutters, trying to deflect, trying to restore the situation. To take back what he said. "Oh, um, I-"

"Listen, I can’t pretend that I understand what you’re going through, but people in small towns usually have small minds. You can do a hell of a lot better than Indiana." Steve swallows against the emotion welling up within him. "And, besides. It’s not like you can never come back. I did."

Steve takes a deep, shuddering breath and nods his understanding. His agreement. Everything that’s going on, everything he feels, is compounded - the shit he’s going through multiplied on top of the shit that is his life. Hopper is right, of course. And he’s not about to spill any more of his guts, let alone the tears stinging at his eyes in front of Hopper, so instead he rubs roughly at his face and nods again. "Yeah. You’re right."

"I know I am," Hopper says with a little smile curving at one side of his mouth. "Now, the quarry closed at sundown. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here."

"Thanks, Hopper," he laughs softly, sliding off the hood and going to the driver’s side door. Somehow, he feels better than when he arrived.

"Anytime, Harrington."


	7. Dreamcatcher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rework: 12/4/2020.

The Party introduces him to Dungeons & Dragons when he finally gets his schoolwork under control and can afford to spend any amount of time away from his books. He has friends his own age... kind of. Billy kind of, Carol kind of, Nancy and Jonathan kind of - and he's friendly with the guys on the basketball team, and some of the girls in class, and sometimes even Tommy. But they’re only friendly with him during school, don’t hang out other than classes, lunch, or basketball practice.

Steve finds out that D&D is kind of fun. He commiserates with Will when Dustin and Mike get into another argument over a campaign they’re planning, helps him choose colors for whatever drawing he’s working on. Lucas and Max like Steve’s character, a half-elf ranger named Gannon, because he’s like Steve but with, like, actual talents. They both roll their eyes when Steve says this, but Steve tells himself they're too young to understand that Steve isn't as cool as they think he is. Eleven is still learning the game, like Steve and Max are, so she smiles at him warmly when he makes a good move in the game or rolls a number he needs. He’s not really sure what to do besides rolling when he’s instructed, and he’s always bitching back at Mike when he gets fussy about Steve not taking it seriously. Dustin has taken on the role of dutiful teacher.

For the most part, they’re all patient and encouraging and it’s definitely more fun than he ever expected it to be.

Steve won’t lie: he doesn’t really _get it_ \- the campaigns and the point system and the fights and all? _That_ he doesn’t understand. But he does like creating characters and naming them, and it’s fun to interact with the characters created by these brilliant, imaginative kids. He’s able to get out of his mind for a few hours, surrounded by their high energy and groaning and laughter. So much fucking laughter, from all of them and from Steve himself, too. It’s nice.

Steve might not really get it, but he still tries and he still likes it. More than anything else, he likes the escape from his life.

They all agree Monday morning over the walkie-talkies to meet at Steve’s on Thursday night to watch a movie. Steve graciously tells them to get their homework done and they can come by at 5:30 instead of 6:00. Really, it’s so he has time to finish his own homework - which is something he’s never thought before in his life - before all the kids came to invade his house for the night. He orders pizza over the cordless phone in the kitchen, and puts on a VHS from his massive movie collection.

The kids start trickling in around 5:45, and it’s nice to have them each enjoying different parts of his house. Lucas is jealous of his TV and sound system, wishes he could have one like it at his house. Will likes the movie collection and says it could probably rival Jonathan’s horde of records. Dustin’s there for the free pizza, so he says, but Steve knows that he’ll be begging his mother to sleep over later. Eleven is only allowed over because Steve is there and keeps track of her and Mike, doesn’t let them sneak off much less sneak kisses in front of him. It gets him points with Hopper, and it puts Mike in his place. And of course, Max is the last to arrive around 6:15, with her red hair sticking out everywhere and a flush to her cheeks.

Steve swallows thickly from the doorway as he looks outside, spotting Billy standing next to the Camaro and smoking a cigarette. His heart thumps painfully in his chest at the sight. He’d just seen Billy this morning for their usual tutoring session, but it still hits him like a train to see Billy dressed up for a night out. Half-buttoned red shirt showing off all that smooth, tan skin, tight denim clinging to his legs, leather jacket giving him that rebellious edge... It’s not even Friday and he looks so _good_.

But it also _hurts_ to see him, because Steve knows that Billy must have a hot date with someone who is definitely _not_ Steve Harrington, former king of Hawkins High and now the loser Billy has to tutor up to being a C-student. Hurts because Steve has never had a chance, not really. He’s just a washed up has-been, an almost-drop-out with few future prospects outside of law enforcement or the military. Steve is acutely aware that he doesn’t amount to much - which _stings_ \- and seeing Billy looking so damn _good_ only digs the blade that much deeper, underscoring the fact that Billy's not just out of his league... he's on a completely different planet.

The planet of the heterosexual, smart, beautiful people.

But Steve just gives Billy a half-smile and waves a little, Max already long gone into the house behind him. Billy, for his part, smirks around the end of his cigarette and salutes Steve back.

"Have fun babysitting," Billy says indifferently, flicking his cigarette away and crossing his arms over his chest. Steve smiles a little and leans against the door-frame.

"It’s not so bad. Maybe you should try it sometime."

"Being stuck around little kids? Sounds like hell. Don’t mind if I _don’t_ jump on the opportunity," Billy laughs, rolling his eyes. "And don’t let Sinclair try anything with my step-sister, pretty boy." The younger teen opens the driver side door and slides behind the wheel.

"You got it, tiger," Steve calls back out, throat dry. Can’t look away from Billy until the red taillights of the Camaro fade into the distance.

Yeah. Steve is fucked.

~

That night, Steve laughs and entertains, snickers when Mrs. Henderson turns down Dustin’s plea for a sleepover, and falls asleep after too much pizza. Steve doesn’t always dream, but tonight he does, and it’s so different than his usual dreams.

Steve’s dreams are usually a mess of nightmarish realism, or, more rarely, a blur of hazy-edged softness and good vibes.

He’s gotten used to waking up in a cold sweat with the rotting, musty smell of the tunnels clogging up his nose. His heart pounds a tattoo against the inside of his chest and the sounds of demodogs troll in the shadows of his room. He wakes to faded echoes in his ears of the kids screaming in terror, and faded fake memories of blood staining his hands. Washes them for minutes on end to get the image of red to go away. His nightmares are all survival and running; flight not fight, feet beating a staccato rhythm against blacktop, the sound of howls, the undeniable feeling of eyes watching him as black veins crawl up the wall.

If he’s not having nightmares, Steve can’t remember anything but soft smudges of color and pleasant emotion. Drifting through time as if on a cloud - as if he _is_ the cloud. Light as opposed to dark, warmth instead of the damp chill of the Upside Down. These dreams are few and far between, but they always leave Steve refreshed instead of exhausted.

After the Party’s night at his house, he dreams of the west coast. He’s been to the beach before, but never in California, and he knows, somehow, that’s where he is.

Steve can see the exact shade of the dampened sand, the dark color of the surf, the bubbles caused by the waves lapping at the shore. He sees giant pieces of kelp - doesn’t even know how he knows that it’s kelp - washed up on the beach. He sees these big rock formations edging out into the water, wave after wave causing a slow erosion over centuries. The salty air, crisp breeze, and gentle sound of the ocean soothe him.

He turns to look back at the rock formation and suddenly there’s a woman a short distance down the beach.

He can only see her from behind but, for some reason, he _knows_ her - but Steve has no clue _how_ he knows her. It’s like searching for a name that’s on the tip of his tongue, though it never comes. She’s tall and thin with long, curly blonde hair, dressed in a red top and blue jeans. He can’t see her face, but just like he somehow recognizes her, he knows without a doubt that she’s beautiful.

He jogs forward and reaches out towards her because he knows he needs to catch her. If he catches her, all his problems will be solved. But the sand at his feet begins to sink beneath him, slowing him down until he’s trudging through it up to his shins. Steve calls out to her to no avail. Looking down, he’s wearing a little league shirt for a team he’d never played for, in colors he’d never worn. When he looks back up, the woman is farther down the beach and something in his chest shatters, broken. Maybe his heart. He reaches out again, trying to pick up the pace, trying to get her attention, trying to hold her hand one more time.

"Wait," he calls out in a voice that both is and isn’t his own. Younger and all wrong, Steve knows instinctively that he’s not himself in his dream. It’s another timbre, another tone, another voice box - but the words are his own. "Wait! Please wait! Come back!"

His voice is quivering, emotional. He wants to cry. Wants to hold that woman’s hand. Wants her to soothe the pain in his jaw, rub away the bruise his father left behind when his father punched him. Wants to be close to her, because his father is trying to replace her with a new mom. Steve doesn’t know where any of this information is coming from, doesn’t know where these thoughts are coming from. Because Steve's father can't even stomach touching Steve sweetly, much less roughly. And even if Steve's mom passed, Steve knows his father wouldn't remarry to replace her.

The dream is hazy-edged but feels real, so fucking _real_, and it’s unlike any dream Steve’s ever had before.

_"Mama... why won’t you come back for me?"_

The words reverberate in his head, around him, like someone else spoke. And something suddenly appears, gripped tightly in his fist - the same hand that had been reaching for her. When Steve looks down, it’s a gold religious pendant. The same pendant he’s noticed a dozen times before, could probably pick out of a lineup.

It belongs to Billy Hargrove.

Steve gasps as he awakens all at once. It’s still dark in his room, 5:00 in the morning according to his clock, and he’s sweating. He doesn’t feel like he’s in control of his body. And for some reason, he stands and makes his way to the bathroom, turns on the light, and startles at his reflection. Breathes fast and hard. _Panting_.

There are Billy’s blue eyes, set in Steve’s face, staring back at him.

Is he still dreaming?

One of his hands moves up to the mirror. Traces the curve of his cheek in his reflection. He must be still dreaming to imagine himself with Billy’s eyes, looking at him with fondness, touching his reflection like he's something... something special. Something precious. It’s him doing all of this, but not him, and it’s blowing his fucking mind and making his heart race like he’s just woken up from a nightmare.

"_Steve_..." he whispers his own name, unbidden, and feels a dizzying sensation as he’s suddenly thrown back into himself.

One moment, he feels like an outsider looking in; the next, he feels the cold glass of the mirror still under his hand, his fingertips gentle in their reverent touch. He feels the hard tile floor beneath his feet, the early morning chill in the air. Can smell the familiar scents of his bathroom, especially the minty toothpaste he’d used the night before.

He’s himself again, standing in his boxers in his bathroom.

Was he lucid dreaming and sleepwalking all at once? And what was that dream on the beach?

Steve stumbles back to bed only to lay there, staring up at the ceiling as the room grows lighter around him, until his alarm goes off. Without the kids around, it’s too quiet and too still in the house. His parents left two days ago, couldn’t even stay the full two weeks his mother had promised, and he’s alone again in this vacant house. He's alone and he's adrift in a confusing sea of emotion.

When he gets to the library where he and Billy have started meeting and Billy hasn’t arrived, Steve just flops down and pulls out some assignment about Shakespeare that he hasn’t started. Hasn't even looked at until now. Steve isn’t really processing the words he’s reading, eyes moving listlessly across the page, and he might as well be staring at a blank sheet of paper. He only snaps to attention when Billy comes in, appearing more than a little worse for wear - looking about how Steve feels. Their eyes meet and Steve’s breath catches in his throat.

Because Billy has a bruise on his jaw.

Billy has a bruise on his jaw in the same place where Steve had imagined one on his own jaw in that dream last night. The same dream that took place in California. The same dream where he'd held Billy's pendant, and the same pendant dangling from his neck right now.

"Rough night?" Steve croaks, eyes lingering on the dark patch of skin. It seems to be mocking him.

Billy grunts and tosses Steve a mean smile, but he can't seem to meet Steve's eyes. It’s so obvious that he’d caught Steve looking at the bruise and didn't want to draw more attention to it. If Steve was dumber, he probably wouldn’t have been able to pick up on the insecurity and self-consciousness in Billy's stance and face, but he’s not _that_ dumb. 

Steve is almost constantly filled with both insecurity and self-consciousness, himself.

"Sure _was_ rough, Bambi. Your mom had a real good time, though."

Steve bites at his lower lip, feels that weird dizziness again now that Billy’s there. Feels this indescribable pull, like magnetism, and can’t explain why he feels it. He knows Billy is deflecting. Knows even more that he shouldn’t let himself be hurt by the silence, because… because they’re only friendly with each other for tutoring, right? The barest minimum of friends, if pressed. _Kind of_ friends. Steve has no monopoly on knowing Billy’s secrets.

But it still stings down to his stomach, and makes his heart flip over painfully with the desire to know, anyway. He _wants_ to know Billy.

Because he wants _Billy_. 

"Whatever, man. Shut up." He rubs his hands over his face and exhales a shaky sigh at the memory of Billy’s eyes - haunted, scared, yet utterly adoring - on his own face.

_It was just a dream. A figment of his imagination._

He’s not sure why, but it feels like he’s lying to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my beta, [phaesporiamuse](https://phaesporiamuse.tumblr.com/), who continues to make my work it’s best, and who lets me rant and vent about where this story is going.
> 
> And a big ol’ THANK YOU to everyone who has commented and/or given kudos to this story. It feels amazing that people are enjoying this! I hope you all enjoy this newest chapter.


	8. Manners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A single chapter from Billy’s perspective.
> 
> Warning: Child abuse/abuse from a parent is heavily mentioned and talked about, but I don’t write that stuff so there’s no scene where abuse specifically takes place, and is not written about graphically.
> 
> Chapter rework: 12/8/2020.

Despite what his father thinks, Billy actually does have manners.

He says _please_ and _thank you_, holds the door open for little old ladies, and doesn’t talk back to teachers, disrupt class, or get in trouble at school. Drives Max to and from the comic book store almost every weekend to meet up with her little squad of nerds. He thanks Susan for dinner every night. Does the dishes, does the laundry, mows the grass, changes Susan’s oil. Hell, he even washes Neil’s car. He gets his chores done and doesn’t make waves.

Billy is, when it comes down to it, a _good_ kid.

Kids at school probably wouldn’t expect that. They probably think he drinks and smokes in the house, walks all over his parents, stays out late and _never _gets in trouble. He knows Max can’t wrap her head around his tough-guy persona outside the house with his total submission inside it, but she’s never been on the receiving end of Neil’s discipline. Even if she’s heard it, seen the aftermath of it, she still doesn’t _know_.

Neil has a way with his fists since words are merely the precursor to Billy’s punishments.

It’s late March on a Thursday after school when Susan and Neil sit Billy and Max down for a talk. All Billy wants is to sit back in his chair and let everyone else talk around him. He doesn’t usually speak when Neil has something to say. He’s learned not to, because it’s _disrespectful_, and Billy _knows_ better than to disrespect Neil. Neil's beaten that particular lesson into him more than a few times. He’s content to process what they’re saying and say nothing in return.

That is, until Susan drops the bomb.

"_Adoption_?" Billy asks, voice sharp enough to cut glass. His jaw clenches tight and it feels like he’s about to break his teeth on all the words attempting to tumble out of his mouth. He can barely keep all the jagged pieces in place behind his lips.

Max perks up from beside him, but gives him a sideways glance. She knows his tone of voice better than anyone else.

"You want to adopt Billy?" she asks her mother. Her voice is hopeful. Bright. _Happy_.

Ever since he’s laid off of her and her nerd herd, they’ve… gotten along better. Their interactions are significantly less miserable. Less callous towards each other, more playful in their words. And more often when things get tense in the house, Max will try to temper the situation, take over to keep Billy from going off the deep end or getting himself into trouble with Neil.

Usually Billy would be thankful for Max’s efforts, but right now he just wants to beat his fist through the table until either his skin or the table breaks. Wants to throw the happy family facade straight through the back window onto Neil’s stupid fucking truck.

Susan smiles and nods in response to Max’s question, then slowly reaches out across the table towards Billy’s hand. He flinches away as soon as her fingertips make contact. He knows he’ll feel bad later, when he remembers the way her earnest face fell at his reaction, but he can’t help that his first instinct is to withdraw. To throw up his walls. To keep himself from _hoping_ only to end up hurt.

"I want us to be a family," Susan states softly, drawing her hand back and looking at her fingers as they tangle together on the table. It’s like she thinks he needs an explanation. He doesn’t need one, much less _want_ one, but he gets it anyway. "Billy doesn’t have his mother anymore, and I thought it’d be... nice. For all of us. It would make us a real family."

Billy feels something hot and acidic and bitter at the back of his mouth at the thought. They all know that Neil can’t adopt Max, since her father still pays child support and that money helps them make ends meet between paychecks. Is this some stupid way around that little problem? Is it for taxes or some shit? A real family? What a fucking _joke_.

"So you want to replace my _real_ mom, is that it, Susan?"

Neil’s stern expression, a perpetual fixture of his face, turns into a contemptuous glower at Billy’s words. It’s a tell-tale sign that Billy is edging into territory he’d usually rather avoid. With his emotions running on high, he can’t seem to stop himself from running his mouth.

"Billy, no," Susan starts, glancing over at Neil with worry clear in her eyes. Whenever Neil is about to lose his shit, Susan tries to calm down the situation before it gets any worse, and Billy knows right now she’s trying to head his father off at the pass. Billy knows she hates when Neil gets upset with him, knows Susan tries to help, but Neil Hargrove does what Neil Hargrove wants. Billy and Susan pretend not to see each other's bruises when they pass in the hallway, or clean the dishes after dinner. It's all a carefully balanced act. "You know I don’t want to replace your mother. No one could ever replace your mother."

Billy scoffs and rolls his eyes at her. "Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly what you think," he snaps.

"Don’t be _disrespectful_, William," Neil bites out between clenched teeth. Billy’s eyes flash over at his father. He wilts a little, but only a little.

"I’m not," Billy mumbles petulantly, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Excuse me? Are you calling me a liar?"

"Neil, listen. It's a big event for him. It’s not a big deal-"

"No, Susan," Neil cuts off his wife, sending a glare her way that has her jaw snapping shut. Her hands fall to her lap. "It is. Billy’s calling me a liar, and that’s a big deal. He knows better than that."

Billy gulps. He’s in hot water and he knows it. Nervousness floods his stomach; it’s a sour feeling, like nausea, curdling in his gut when it hits the fear that’s always present whenever his father is around.

"I’m not calling you a liar. Sir." He tacks on the honorific as if that’ll save him.

"You _are_," Neil disagrees, sitting upright as he locks his eyes on Billy. Billy can’t look him in the eye. He’s afraid. Things have always been rough between them, but the older Billy gets, the worse Neil treats him. It’s like the closer he gets to eighteen, the more Neil has to show Billy who is really in charge - the closer Billy gets to freedom, the more Neil has to emphasize that he’s still caged. "You’re going to take Max to her friend’s house, and then when you come home, I think you better go to your room, Billy, and think about your manners."

Max is as quiet as a mouse where she pretends to be staring at her plate and pushing peas around it with her fork, but really she's looking at Billy out of the corner of her eye with concern. Neil usually keeps this sort of interaction confined behind closed doors, usually in Billy’s room, so that Max doesn’t see. She can’t help but hear, though. Billy knows she hears them, because she’s the one who comes to patch him up in the middle of the night, when Billy wants to crawl out of his skin or jump off the highest building he can find. Now, Max definitely hears the threat in Neil’s voice, hears the unspoken words. Billy wonders if she can hear the loud thump of his heart in his chest.

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and stands up just like he’s been ordered. He knows she’s going over to Steve’s place, the fucking babysitter of this little nerd herd or some shit, and Billy has to change before he takes Max out, wants to look halfway decent for him.

For Steve.

"Apologize to Susan, boy."

"I’m sorry, Susan." He can’t meet her eye, can’t look away from his father. Worries that if he looks away that something will happen, something even worse than what's happening right now.

Billy's tail is tucked between his legs like he’s a fucking dog. He’s got a Pavlovian response to Neil’s commands, the trained knowledge of pain to follow all the fear, and he follows those commands dutifully as he all but pants for how easy he gives in to his father. Maybe he _is_ a dog.

Susan gives Neil a look, lips pursed together as if the whole situation is abhorrent to her. As if she would stop it if she could. Sometimes, when Billy feels angry about his lot in life, he wonders what’s stopping her from ending all the abuse.

But Billy knows how Neil used to treat his mom. He’s seen bruises around Susan’s wrist when she doesn't pull her sleeves down quickly enough while making dinner. Neil might not act out in front of him or Max, but the way Susan flinches when Neil opens the front door too loudly is just as telling as the bruises. Neil’s kindness only lasts so long since it’s all a front, a mask of _bullshit_, behind which hides a beast lurking like a shark in the shallows.

"It’s okay Billy," Susan tells him softly, pleads with her eyes.

She reaches out again and this time Billy doesn’t flinch when she touches him, fingers gentle on his elbow. It’s just a small touch, brief, but it’s warm. It’s nice. It calms something in him a bit, Susan’s tender gentleness, but it also takes a bit of the steel out of his spine.

He’s usually ready for when Neil disciplines him and can take it without much reaction other than pained noises and winces, flinching from every sound and movement from his father. But the people around him make him softer when they’re _nice_ to him. He’s not used to _nice_, not used to kindness, not used to warmth and understanding and affection. What he _is_ used to are bruises and burn marks, fists to the face and kicks to the ribs, lips busted bloody and teeth knocked loose. He’s used to fear and anger and hopelessness. He’s used to control won through pain.

"Respect and responsibility," Neil says, as if Billy hasn’t heard the condescending phrase on repeat for years. It’s been beaten into him more times than Billy can count. "You better learn it soon, son."

"Yes, sir."

He gets ready to take Max to see Steve, takes some time to look nice. Unbuttons his shirt an extra button, throws on the leather jacket and a tighter pair of jeans. He’s so distracted by what’s awaiting him at home that he doesn’t even spend much time teasing Steve, just looks his fill while he smokes a cig. Takes him in - the gentle sweep of his hair, the curve of his lips, the soothing sound of his voice. He can’t stay, can’t linger no matter how much he wants to, and when he leaves it’s with a heart thumping heavy and fast in his chest.

Later, after he’s put in his place with a fist to the face, Billy lays down on his bed. It’s stupid, and sad, how predictable this has become.

He waits until he’s behind a locked door to let his eyes go wet, more comfortable with no one around to see his moment of weakness. Even with the new bruise he’s sporting on his jaw and Neil’s harsh words ringing in his ear, he refuses to let the tears fall. Instead, Billy tries to breathe, tries to get the steel back in his spine, wipes at his eyes with the knuckles of a shaky hand, then sniffles quietly. Shamefully.

It’s not even the worst beating Neil has given him - it’s just… Billy still feels so _raw_ about the adoption.

Billy knows his mother is gone, okay? She left them in San Diego, left _him_ all alone with his father’s fucked up version of love. And he hasn’t seen her since. It was like she up and disappeared from the face of the earth. He had tried, when she called the one and only time, tried to get her to tell him where she had gone and how long she’d be gone, if she was with someone else, but got no definite answer. He’s looked for her since, can’t find anything even remotely linked to her name, maiden or married. Doesn’t even know where to start.

And sometimes, Billy thinks maybe his dad was right - she must have been seeing someone else and ran away with him. He wonders if she has a new family, if he has any siblings. He wonders if she misses him, if she’s happy now - if she’s happier without him.

Then again, for all he knows, she’s dead and gone.

(He hopes she’s not. Keeps thinking about all the what-ifs.)

~

Billy falls asleep that night with his mother in the forefront of his thoughts, so it’s no wonder that he dreams about her too. It’s always the same dream when she’s on his mind: he’s at a water-logged beach, winter in California, his mother ahead of him and walking away. She always wears a different outfit, and she never looks back.

He feels distant, though, like he’s watching his own dream through a mirror, and the sensation is _dizzying_. He can see himself chasing after his mother, knows the longing he feels - he wants to be with her. Hold her hand. Have her soothe him the way she always did when his father got rough with him. She’d rub away the ache in his chest, kiss away the pain in his jaw, make him feel while again.

"Mama... why won’t you come back for me?" Billy attempts to ask, but he’s not in charge of his body, let alone his mouth. Instead, the words echo faintly around him, quiet and reverberating as if he’d held a conch shell to his ear.

Out of nowhere, he’s holding her pendant in his hand; it’s the only piece of her he has left - other than his blonde curls and his blue eyes. She’d left the necklace on his bed when she packed up in the middle of the night and left their crappy little apartment in San Diego. His hand almost hurts because he’s holding it so tightly.

When Billy wakes up, it feels like he’s going to vomit. He’s sure that he’s not entirely awake when he stumbles through a room that isn’t his and pushes open a door to end up in a bathroom he’s only seen once. It’s like his body knows the path even if Billy’s mind doesn’t.

He visibly startles when his eyes land on the mirror - it’s Steve Harrington staring back at him, but with Billy’s blue eyes in place of the warm brown that Billy finds crossing his thoughts too often. He’s in Steve Harrington’s bathroom. Steve looks sleep-mussed, fresh out of bed, clad in nothing but a pair of green boxers. Billy lets himself look, drinking in the sight of Steve bare in front of him.

This _has_ to be a dream.

He reaches out with shaky fingers to touch the reflection, tracing Steve’s cheek in the kind of way he wishes he had the courage to do in person. "_Steve_..."

But then he’s thrown out of it all of a sudden, waking to his darkened bedroom and familiar sheets. He lays there for a long moment, shaken and confused, full of unfulfilled desire, with the beginnings of a headache coming on. He writes it all off as a recurring dream made weirder by the adoption talk the day before. As much as he wants to think about it deeply, wants to pick his dream apart and understand what it means, Billy has to get up. Has to make coffee and take a shower before Neil awakens and sets to make Billy’s day a tough one right off the bat. He thinks he’ll start breakfast for Susan as a more sincere apology for yesterday - much more meaningful than being forced to say words he didn’t want to.

The nosebleed he wakes up with is new, but Billy writes that off too.

Making breakfast, though, means Billy’s running late after he drops Max off at the middle school, peeling into the lot and hurrying down the hallways. He feels torn inside again when he spots Steve sitting by himself.

Steve looks tired. His hair is done, clothes are pressed and in place, but the circles under his eyes are as dark as the bruise on his jaw. When their gazes meet, Billy feels _dizzy_. The warm brown irises are back, and he feels... kind of okay again, recentered, and yet thrown off kilter in a completely different way from how _right_ it feels to be around Steve.

_What the fuck is this?_

"Rough night?" Steve asks him.

Billy wishes that he could cover the bruise on his jaw but Neil had slipped up this time. The slap had been a punch, spurred on by Billy’s reluctance to take the beating _like a man_, because Billy flinched when Neil grabbed his jaw and yelled into his face, and Neil didn’t like that.

Neil Hargrove is a piece of _shit_.

He’s been looking at Steve out of the corner of his eye for _months_ now, but Billy can’t meet Steve’s eyes with the way he’s feeling… Ashamed by the physical sign of Neil’s abuse, raw with the emotion of the dream about his mom, guilty for dreaming about Steve. Guiltier still for the way his heart speeds up in his chest under Steve’s friendly attention. Fuck, why do these things happen to him?

At first, he’d been looking because he regretted exploding the way he did back in November. Hates the way he broke someone because he felt so broken, so trapped, caged like a fucking animal, so he reacted like a fucking animal. He just didn’t know how to apologize for all of it - the violence and the posturing and the cruelty.

But then, at some point, the staring had become curious.

Questioning.

He wondered things about Steve - what happened between when Billy passed out and when Max coaxed him awake, made him drive them home? How bad did Steve’s face hurt, looking the way it did? How did Steve become so entrenched with those nerdy kids Max likes so much - and how could he even stand them?

Then, the tutoring gig started, and his wondering became more pointed. More interested. What made Steve take up tutoring now of all times? How did he not understand his English assignments? Why was simple reading so difficult for him? Billy couldn’t bring himself to ask these questions out loud, didn’t want to admit that he paid attention to Steve at all.

Once the stupid middle school dance happened, Billy’s questions veered towards the self-deprecating. Why did Billy confess about his father? What did Steve think of him? It must not have been too terrible, since they became friendly, became tentative friends, even, especially after the New Years party. But Steve had pulled away after Billy stayed the night. Was Steve afraid of him? Did he get worried when Billy got mean? Did he ever think about how Billy crashed on his floor, was only a foot away from where Steve slept in his bed? And there was one question that circled through Billy’s mind on repeat: _how did he make Billy go all soft for him?_

But he can’t voice his thoughts out loud, not now and probably not ever. He couldn’t let anyone see that the kindness made him soft; that's weakness, and Billy isn’t weak. Billy’s not a pussy. With that last question whispering through his head, Billy twists his lips into a cruel smile and gives his iciest tone, does what he goes best when cornered.

He deflects.

"Sure _was_, Bambi. Your mom had a real good time, though."

"Whatever, Billy. Shut the fuck up."

Billy refuses to analyze how it hurts when Steve’s face falls at his deflection. He can’t do this right now, and it seems like Steve can’t handle the banter either, much less Billy being intentionally _mean_ to cover up his real feelings. Billy takes a breath, exhales slowly, and simply shakes his head. Moves on to why they’re in the library at all an hour before classes start.

"Shakespeare," Billy redirects, pointing to the project assignment in front of Steve. "Shakespeare’s works have lasted for centuries, Harrington, and it’s difficult to get through at first but there’s some really good shit in his writing. Jokes, even, in my favorite plays."

He doesn’t want to talk about his night. Doesn’t want to talk about Susan wanting to adopt him, doesn’t want to talk about Neil giving his son a new mother, doesn’t want to talk about his mom, nor his dream about her.

He definitely doesn’t want to talk about how his dream turned into one featuring Steve, knows better than to even mention that to him. Not if he wants to keep Steve as a friend.

(With his eyes averted, though, Billy misses the long, lingering looks Steve sends him while he waxes poetic about Shakespeare.)

~

He has more weird dreams, after that. It’s like once the first recurring dream went wild, more crop up - except none of them are dreams he remembers having before.

One features Max on a beach, standing in the sand with Lucas, and he tries not to scoff too loudly as he watches her kiss his cheek. Another features _Nancy fucking Wheeler_, of all people. She’s fighting a really nasty monster with a baseball bat, screaming about someone named Barb. Hadn’t that been the girl who went missing? Billy wakes from that particular dream shaking in vestigial fear.

The final involves Steve again. It’s different from last time, different from the other dreams, too. Instead of being a spectator, instead of seeing things through someone else’s eyes, Billy feels like he’s right there, a part of the dream.

Steve and he are sitting on the dock at Lovers Lake, sunbeams dancing across their skin, feet skimming through the cool water. Steve laughs - the sound sends butterflies through his stomach - then glances over at him.

"Billy," Steve whispers, leaning closer. His lips brush across the line of Billy’s cheekbone. It’s so _warm_. He can feel Steve’s lips even after he pulls away, like an echo.

Billy feels his heart skip a beat at the look Steve’s giving him when Steve pulls away. It’s adoring and shy, his eyes heavy-lidded and interested, lashes long, lips stretched around a grin; it makes Steve look so _pretty_. And it fills Billy with more warmth than the sun above them.

It’s the warmth that hits him so hard, and Billy wakes up panting and staring at the ceiling of his room. He swears he can still feel the tingle of Steve’s lips on his cheek. He’s scared and wanting all at once.

Billy doesn’t have dreams for a while after that.

~

In early April, Billy wears his nicest button-up and dress slacks, and a fucking sweater-vest like some sort of _prep_, to the courthouse. He stands there, lets the judge read over the paperwork, gets asked if he consents. Neil locks eyes with him and gives him a threatening look, like Billy would have had the balls to say _no_ in front of a _judge_, and Billy nods his agreement to being adopted.

It took them all of two weeks to get through the paperwork. Two weeks of Billy flinching from Neil’s sudden movements. Two weeks of Susan’s soft looks and softer sighs. Two weeks of Max’s lips twisted shut as if biting her comments back.

Billy appreciates that Max isn’t saying _shit_ about the situation.

He can still tell that she’s happy - happy to have something resembling a normal family, since Susan never married Max’s dad. And she’s happy to officially have a big brother, he knows that. Max and Billy have been getting along better and better, even if that’s just a lot of teasing and swearing and flipping each other the bird. It’s kind of nice to have a little sister like Max. She’s a spitfire and has a mouth on her that will get her in trouble with Neil if she isn’t careful. But he looks out for her, and she looks out for him.

So, maybe Billy is secretly glad she’s his sister, but he wishes it didn’t come at the expense of being _adopted_.

Billy couldn’t say how long the whole hearing takes; he checks out and only speaks when directly spoken to.

Neil packs them into the car and they go out to eat for a late lunch after the hearing, playing the happy family celebrating. He wishes he could be happy like the rest of them, wishes he could be happy at all, but today Billy hates it. Hates Neil, hates Susan for trying to replace his mother, hates Max for being so happy about it.

That evening, Neil is reading the paper in the den when Susan asks him to take Max to the store to get out of the house, hands him a shopping list and more than enough money to cover the expenses, and gives him a small, hopeful smile.

He doesn’t smile back.

Max is quiet until they park in the lot in front of the store. Billy turns off the Camaro, takes the key out, and he’s just about to open the door when Max reaches over and stills him with a hand on his forearm.

"What is it, shitbird?" he mutters out of the corner of his mouth, but it’s more of an endearment than he’d ever admit to. The words are mean but the sharp tone isn’t there. There’s no cruelty in it, not for Max. They’ve come a long way, really, since they first met in California. "Susan needs us to buy groceries, not comics, so don’t even think ab-"

"That’s not-" Max takes a breath and gives Billy this look. It’s open, and yearning, and he shuts up even if he wants to tease her for not finding her words quickly enough. "It’s- listen, Billy. My mom isn’t trying to replace your mom."

Billy feels his jaw clenching and he wants to rip open the door and slam it behind him. Wants to terrorise her so she doesn’t find out how tender that wound still is. She doesn’t know what the _fuck_ she’s talking about. "Maxine-"

"No, Billy, fuck you. Let me finish." She takes a breath, looks out the windshield. Like she’s trying to find the steel for her spine, too. "My mom adopted you so she can save you."

Billy feels like the rug has been pulled out from beneath him. Like he’s flat on his back, wind knocked out. He can’t wrap his head around what Max is telling him. "What?"

"She didn’t know that Neil was like this before they got married," Max confesses. She picks at the hole in the knee of her blue jeans, tears at the fraying threads. "She hates how he treats you. Hates that no matter what she says, he still keeps it up. Hates when he gets mean with her. I’ve seen her wrists, you know? I know he hurts her too. She’s afraid he’s going to hit me someday, probably sooner than later." Max takes another slow breath, exhales just as slowly, and finally looks over at Billy again. Now, she looks fierce. Determined. Billy knows she’s gonna kick ass when she gets older and he can’t help the little prickle of pride that blooms in his stomach. "She’s going to leave him, Billy. And she wants to take you with us."

"Custody," he murmurs, the realization finally dawning on him. He knows he looks dumbstruck with shock. "She’s going to fight him for custody."

"Yes," Max says, smiling this tiny little thing that curls her lips. Hopeful again, less defensive. A little soft, like how Susan looks at him when she’s trying her best to soothe him - he sees so much of Susan in her that it hits him in the gut. "We haven’t been able to tell you, but we have a plan. She’s going to file a restraining order against him, get him out of the house."

"And then what?" Billy asks. He feels absolutely floored, dazed, confused as hell. Is he dreaming again? He pinches himself, sharp and quick, to check and barely contains his hiss of pain. Not asleep, then. Max catches him at it and rolls her eyes. Billy frowns at her. "She files a restraining order and then everything is fucking peachy?"

"Of course not, you fucking idiot," Max scoffs. Rolls her eyes. She takes after him sometimes even if they’re not blood related. Makes him want to smile despite the whiplash of emotion from all the news. "That’s only the restraining order for her. Next time he touches you, she’s calling the cops and getting one for you. Then she’s going to file for divorce, and alimony, and custody of you. Child support, too. If she has a restraining order, and a police report for herself and for you, that’ll help her case. She’s been talking with Ms. Byers and Chief Hopper about it. He’s going to vouch for us, make sure everything is documented."

"Wow. She really thought this all out, huh?"

"Yeah, yeah, we both have. She’s good at that."

Billy looks at the grocery store in front of them and feels like flying. Feels like laughing. So he does, a little chuckle that turns wet - wet like his eyes turn wet, tears clinging to his lashes. It’s so much to take in. It’s everything he’s ever dreamed of. Max’s hand grips his hand tightly, and it helps to ground him.

He turns his hand in hers and clasps it back like a lifeline, takes a deep breath. "Fuck. I’ve been such a shithead to her."

"You have, but it’s okay, Billy. She understands why," Max soothes.

She’s not a soothing person, but… but she’s trying, for him, and it works. Calms him down a little. As much as Billy has convinced himself that he can’t have anything good, he craves the reassurance she gives him. Craves the comfort he’s never gotten before, so he allows himself the small weakness. Squeezes her hand gently. "I’m lucky to have you both then, aren’t I, shitbird?"

"Yeah. You really are, numbnuts."

Billy laughs and laughs and laughs, and Max can’t help but giggle along with him. It feels good to laugh.

It feels like freedom is just beyond their fingertips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I teased you guys with some more dreamsharing and haven’t explained it at all, but we’ll get there, I promise. There’s a lot of plot building and I had to throw in some Harringrove build up too.
> 
> Shout out to my beta, [phaesporiamuse](https://phaesporiamuse.tumblr.com/), for always allowing me to vent and talk and worry about this fic. You’re a lifesaver.
> 
> If you enjoyed, please consider leaving a kudo or comment for encouragement!
> 
> And thank you for all the support from everyone reading - I’m so happy that people are enjoying this little story I came up with.


	9. Magnetism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this took almost 10 months to post?? I feel so embarrassed? Because I've had this chapter finished for almost as long. The next chapter, too. I'm actually working on Chapter 11 currently. _That_ is how bad I am.
> 
> Hopefully I'll be working on this more often. I spent the last... week or so reworking the previous chapters because I found so many typos I wanted to cry, lol. But, essentially, I've been in a rut lately and working on this fic has really helped.

Steve has another dream, the first one involving Billy since the time when he woke up with Billy’s eyes.

The new one is a really nice dream - just them at Lovers Lake. Steve has been there at least a dozen times since he started dating in middle school, took girls to go swimming in the summer, or to park in the woods around and make out.

But… this feels so different. Like so much more. They sit on the dock together with their feet in the water. It’s all very warm and cozy, and very _intimate_. Intimate in ways Steve hasn’t felt in months.

It feels a lot like his usual good dreams - fuzzy around the edges, rose-tinted, feel-good vibes - but he can actually see the lake, and he can see Billy.

And Billy looks so damn good out here, shirtless, smiling, his tan skin and his blonde hair standing out in the sunlight. He’s fucking _glowing_. Steve even has the courage in his dream to kiss Billy’s cheek and Billy smiles so wide, fucking laughs like Steve’s never heard before, and Steve can’t help but gaze at him.

Billy is- he’s so much, almost too much for Steve to handle, but fuck, does he want to try. Steve wants so much, feels so much that it throbs in his veins.

God, he _never_ wants to wake up from this.

So when he does, Steve is panting and he swears he can still feel the sun on his skin because he’s so _warm_.

He clenches his jaw, tears catching at the corners of his eyes. Longing sings in his blood. In that dream, Steve had everything he ever wanted and now… now it’s all gone. Steve will only ever know all of those things - Billy’s hair catching the sun, Billy’s smile, Billy’s laughter - as a dream. These snippets of the only guy who’s ever made Steve look twice are just figments of his imagination, and he’ll never feel them in real life.

His eyes sting and his throat chokes up with emotion, and he hates that morning has come.

~

Late April finds Billy acting… strangely.

Billy misses school one day, and so Ms. Goldberg asks another student to tutor Steve that morning.

Or, more accurately, Steve tries to learn and tried to pay attention to his work,. But he ends up having to keep himself from being distracted by this junior, Sarah, pointing out tidbits that aren’t helpful at all. 

And, like, okay. Steve isn’t trying to pump up his own ego or anything, but he _swears_ she’s trying to get him to look at her chest each time she presses close, soft breasts pressing to his arm. She stretches her legs out to tangle with his under the table every time he draws away. He gets very little done and feels so unproductive and kind of - he doesn’t know a better word for it - grossed out that he gets himself in a weird mood.

He does poorly in his classes that day and the teachers give him these chastising looks. Like they expect more from him - like he can do _better_. 

And Steve has been doing better, has had the switch turned _on_ for months now, hasn’t slipped once. He’s not used to those kinds of looks, has never been on the receiving end of them, and feels shame creeping down his neck each time a teacher looks at him with disappointment in their eyes.

Really, Steve knows he can do better - but without Billy around to help him focus, he can’t get anything done.

The next day, Billy comes to school and it’s like- like a weight’s been lifted off Billy’s shoulders. He’s so different. His smiles come easier, he laughs more freely, he jokes and doesn’t have that bite behind everything he says. Steve doesn’t know what changed, what made Billy so _happy_, but it’s so striking when Steve’s on the receiving end of that happiness.

It’s stunning to see especially up close, especially when they’re alone in the library before school, tucked away at a table in the stacks. Steve glances at Billy when he thinks Billy isn’t looking - but Billy is, with something secretive in his blue, blue eyes.

Their eyes lock. Steve can’t find it in himself to look away. There’s this weird feeling in his stomach, this pull towards Billy, this magnetism, and Steve is sure it’s all Billy’s charm. It’s dizzying to be at the center of that blue gaze. Almost... electric.

And Billy’s so fucking _beautiful_. It’s like that dream, but better because Steve knows he’s awake. He wants so much again, wants to… to hold Billy’s hand, and run his fingers through Billy’s curls, and… and he wants to kiss Billy. Wants to know what Billy’s lips taste like.

His eyes drop to look at Billy’s mouth.

When Billy licks his lips, Steve inhales sharply and his eyes flit back up to meet the blue, blue of Billy’s, and then they both look away. For whatever reason, Steve fights back the urge to smile. Can’t fight back the flush rising to his cheeks, though.

He tries not to read too much into it when he catches a pink tinge to Billy’s cheeks, too.

~

Steve needs to save money for wherever he decides to go for the academy, and the new mall is opening a dozen or more stores, so Steve puts in a dozen or more applications and crosses his fingers for Sam Goody. He gets called back to interview for a few places, but not Sam Goody, _damn it._ He schedules interviews, talks to Ms. Goldberg, his counselor, for practice and advice, and ends up getting offers from three places - Scoops Ahoy, The Gap, and Waldenbooks.

Steve, surprisingly, goes with the bookstore. It’s completely out of his element - a place with _books_ \- but he’d done well to drop the bits of wisdom Billy had taught him about Shakespeare during his interview.

(And… Steve has problems with books, right, but since Ms. Goldberg gave him this video program for reading, it’s coming a little easier to him. She wants him to schedule an appointment with a special doctor to talk about _dyslexia_ \- gives him the number to the specialist, and he even gets his insurance information from his mom. He claims it’s for college applications. 

His mom doesn’t ask any further than that.

He makes an appointment for the very last week of April, and it’s so weird thinking about how he might have a fucking _disorder_. It makes so much sense, but it also makes him feel a little cheated. Maybe he could have learned more, understood more, while growing up. Maybe he could have done better in school if they’d caught it earlier, if his parents had paid attention, if _anyone_ in his life had paid attention to him struggling. Maybe people wouldn’t call him _dumb but pretty_.)

He starts working at Waldenbooks after school. Thankfully, Steve’s great with sorting and alphabetizing, and he starts to memorize the layout of the store. It’s a little mindless, a little tedious, and it’s pretty quiet all around, but it’s something he comes to appreciate. The quiet especially.

School is a cacophony of noise and people yelling and his attention going in a million directions. But at work, Steve can slow down and take his time.

His coworker, Robin, was in his history class last year with Ms. Click and she seems to hate him but otherwise, really, Robin’s cool.

A good routine is established between tutoring, homework, shifts at the store, and babysitting on the weekends.

He budgets the shit out of his allowance with the help of Ms. Goldberg after telling her he wants to prepare for college budgeting. Steve is in charge of paying the bills to keep up the house, his parents send home that money every month, so he stretches a dollar as much as possible between food and gas, then watches the rest go into his savings account, which begins to bulk up nicely. And he didn’t completely lie to Ms. Goldberg, because he _is_ getting ready for when he goes to a police academy wherever he ends up living.

Steve feels for the first time that he has a plan. Ms. Goldberg asks him to think through that plan, keep making steps, visualize where he wants to go and what he needs to do to get there. To break the big picture down into smaller parts. It’s… good, it’s honestly really good, and he’s never been taught to think about things like that. Mostly, he was thrown into school and given very little support. It feels really good to know that he’s on the right track. That he can get to where he needs to go.

His birthday comes; he goes to school and then goes to work.

It’s uneventful. No one notices that the day is any different, that Steve is eighteen - a legal adult now.

His parents forget to call. Steve tries not to be disappointed and only halfway succeeds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to come yell at me on [my tumblr](https://rvspberryjvm.tumblr.com/). I turned my inbox on so you can send me an ask or just DM me! Always open to making new friends. :)
> 
> The next chapter will be posted probably over the weekend. Let me know what you think of this one!


	10. Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooof. Gear up for some angst, my friends. Sorry this chapter took a bit - just finished my semester at school and got some of my old fics posted before I got around to getting this one ready for posting. I hope you enjoy!

The Saturday following Steve’s appointment in which he’s _diagnosed_ with fucking _dyslexia_, he’s watching after the kids and takes them to the arcade. They all scamper inside once he’s coughed up all the singles and quarters in his pockets and car.

Lucas waits out front for Max to show. El’s already shadowing Dustin, Mike, and Will as they all talk about the high scores they’ll attempt to beat.

Dustin likes pinball because he and Steve can bond over that one and only game, but Steve and El are especially partial to pinball. Her favorite is the Neverending Story machine, so Steve makes sure to help her get the highest score without using any powers. Teaches her how to angle the ball and press the buttons at just the right time. He can’t really rank his favorite kids, because he’s fond of all of them, but Eleven is leagues above Mike Wheeler, that’s for damn sure.

Steve doesn’t feel like coming in with them today. It’s mid-May in Hawkins which means it’s finally warming out, so Steve sits on the hood of his car in the parking lot and reads a fucking book. He knows it looks weird. He’s never been brainy, not once in his whole fucking life, but he’s practicing the tips given in the video program. And he’s trying to work through the list of books his boss recommended for him when he admitted he doesn’t know many classics.

He’s paging through The Great Gatsby, squinting and biting his lip, when the familiar rumble of an engine sounds through the parking lot, cuts through his concentration, and captures his attention. Of course it does… it always does.

It’s _Billy._

The Camaro pulls in next to Steve’s bright blue BMW, isles while Max jumps out and they do their usual parting call - _“Bye assface,” Max snarls, grinning; “See ya, shitbird,” Billy calls back with a little wink_ \- before the Camaro turns off and Billy steps out from the driver’s seat.

The sound of him draws Steve’s dark eyes to watch the familiar figure stepping out, and he swallows thickly as he takes in Billy’s appearance. Some part of Steve resents Billy for looking so good with a half-done shirt that makes the tan on his chest pop, even after an Indiana winter’s lack of sun.

And from what Steve hears, if rumors are to be believed, Billy’s about to be a lifeguard at the community pool for the summer. Plenty of opportunity to regain whatever deep bronze color Billy had lost from the California sun. 

Even if he has his own pool, Steve has the sudden urge to take the kids there as often as he can manage. He knows he’ll make up as many excuses as he can to explain it away. Knows the real reason will stay his own little secret because otherwise it’ll have to be pried out of his cold, dead fingers.

“Gatsby, Bambi?” Billy calls out as he comes to lean against the passenger side of his car, the nearest side to Steve.

Steve wants to reach out and touch him the way he had the night of their fight. Wants to press his fingers to Billy’s _sinful_ chest.

Somehow, he bites back the urge.

“Gotta read for work,” Steve explains, biting at his lower lip to distract himself from all the things he wants to say, wants to _do_, to Billy. “I told you, right? Somehow I got hired at Waldenbooks. I should really thank you.”

Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen Billy look bashful before but Billy… Billy fucking _blushes_. It’s a barely-there pink stain spreading across his cheeks and nose, and it’s so fucking cute that Steve has to physically clench his hand to keep himself in check. Crinkles some of the pages, but he’ll take the loss if it means getting to see Billy like this. A little shy and a little playful with the way he looks at Steve from beneath his eyelashes. God, he’s so goddamn _beautiful_, and it _hurts_ because Billy is everything he’ll never have.

“You should definitely thank me,” Billy finally says with his usual bravado. “I’ve been tutoring you for how long now? You were a mess when I found you, Harrington.”

Steve rolls his eyes but he’s sure that the effect is lessened by the fond smile on his face.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he mutters, waving a hand flippantly. “Thanks, Hargrove.”

They start talking about Gatsby when Billy asks how far into the book he is, and though Steve can’t really talk too much about symbolism and politics or whatever tangent Billy takes, but he can talk about how toxic Gatsby and Daisy are for each other. Billy seems impressed that Steve garnered that much, and Steve feels proud of himself.

“You know, Harrington, you’re not just a pretty face anymore. Now you got a functional brain up in that good-lookin’ head of yours.”

“Aww, Billy,” Steve croons back teasingly. Bats his eyelashes at the other teen. “Keep talking like that, and I’ll think you actually might like me.”

Billy rolls his eyes and scoffs and Steve can’t help but laugh this soft, happy sound. Billy looks at him sharply with his teeth in his plush lower lip, the corners of his mouth twitching as he obviously fights back a smile of his own.

Billy’s been so… so light, recently, free, smiling and laughing, and it’s such a sight to see. Steve can’t ask, won’t ask, what happened the day Billy was gone from school, but he wants to know. He wants Billy to stay like this forever because Billy feels more… real. He feels reachable, even more reachable than at New Years when Billy stumbled home with him and slept on his floor and Steve barely kept himself from touching Billy’s fingers while he slept.

“Whatever, we’re friends,” Billy says, then affects an aloof air about himself to make up for all the nice words.

“Yeah?” Steve’s smile widens, and he tilts his head down a little - just enough that hair flops over one eye and he laughs and shakes it back out again.

They’re _friends_ now. Billy said so.

Then the blonde says, “But don’t go thinking my compliments’ll come so easy next time.”

Steve just hums softly in his throat. Fixes Billy with a smaller smile. Fonder. Warmer. It feels just like his dream, complete with the sun shining on them. 

Unfortunately, they’re not alone and Steve sets his book aside in favor of sliding off the hood and leaning against his car. His posture mirrors Billy’s, both of them with their legs outstretched in front of them. Steve bumps his knee into Billy’s.

Licking his lips, he asks, “Can I bum a cigarette?”

“I’m gonna have to start charging you soon, pretty boy,” Billy points out, but shakes out one for Steve and holds it for him to take.

When Steve reaches for it, lets their fingers brush, that sensation comes back, the dizzying one when they were in the library after Steve dreamed about Billy.

As soon as their fingers touch, Steve feels something snap into place, sharp as the sting of a rubber band, louder than thunder in his ears. There’s an overwhelming, foreign sensation he can’t quite describe. His head swims with the onslaught of thoughts that don’t quite feel like his own. Emotions flow over him that he can tell are not his own, no matter how much they mirror his current state of mind. Affection, fondness, nervousness.

But somehow Steve can tell it’s aimed at _himself._ What the actual fuck?

It’s like… like thoughts ringing through his ears in Billy’s voice, and his own thoughts, his realizations, seemingly reverberating through someone else’s ears. He can’t describe it, can’t fathom it, and Steve pulls the cigarette from Billy’s fingers only for the sensation to slowly fade like an echo in the dark. He takes a shaky breath, their eyes having locked as soon as their fingers touched, then Billy blinks rapidly. It’s like he’s coming back into himself.

“The fuck…” the younger teen mumbles, frowning and rubbing his fingers over his mouth. Those are the fingers that Steve touched, and for a moment he imagines pressing his fingers over Billy’s mouth, pressing his fingers _in_ past his lips.

Watching Billy like this, Steve can pretend that Billy wants that too.

At least, until Billy takes a step away, eyebrows furrowing together in a look of confused disquiet. There’s something anxious and shaken haunting his eyes, and Steve hates it.

“Billy-”

“What the fuck is that, Harrington?” Billy growls, and those haunted eyes narrow, turn cruel and frigid. The blue, blue turns steely and Steve just-

Fuck, Steve thought they were past this. He thought they were past the cold distance, and the last names, and. And he thought they were _friends_.

But apparently he thought wrong.

“I- Billy, the _fuck_, I don’t fucking know-”

“Fucking save it, Harrington,” he snaps, throwing his cigarette down, barely touched, and stamps it beneath his feet to put it out. The tobacco spills onto the pavement where the paper rips apart.

Steve feels a little like that cigarette under Billy’s heel.

Because then Billy stalks around to the driver’s side of the Camaro, gives Steve this withering glare, and slams the door behind him before he’s peeling off out of the parking lot and down the street.

The distance that had closed between them since that day in the library now seems chasm-wide, valley-deep. Too immeasurable and immense to cross.

And in Billy’s absence, Steve’s mind goes haywire.

They weren’t friends. They weren’t close at all. Wrong, Steve, wrong. Always wrong. Can’t do anything right.

_“You’re bullshit.”_

“Fuck,” Steve rasps, pressing his hand over his eyes. The cigarette he’d been given is still perched between two fingers. He doesn’t have a lighter.

With shaking hands, Steve opens the door to the car and stows the cigarette in his half-empty pack. He’s always asking to bum a cigarette from Billy even when he has his own, simply to have that smell waft around him… To feel what Billy has pressed against his lips, Steve realizes with a start. _Fuck._

He can’t handle that realization right now, not in the aftermath of Billy leaving in such a hurry, leaving in a storm of anger and brutality.

Stamping on that cigarette like it was Steve’s heart.

~

Steve takes all the kids home, even Max. Billy’s car isn’t there when he does, with Dustin in the front seat, Will in the back. Max and Eleven have been giggling the entire way and if Steve weren’t in such a mood from Billy tearing off, he’d find it cute. The only two girls in their little group — Steve likes that they’re finally becoming friends. But he can’t focus on that.

Dustin, the final charge to deliver back home, seems worried when he’s dropped off, keeps asking Steve if he’s okay. Steve nods stiffly, still doesn’t say a word, but gives the weakest smile that he can muster.

“Steve, man, please,” Dustin says quietly, leaning through the passenger window. “I know I’m not an adult like you, but you can talk to me. You know that, right?”

So Steve looks at Dustin, really looks at him in a way he hasn’t for ages. Takes in the earnest way Dustin looks at him, the way his hair spills out from beneath the ever-present hat, the clutch of his fingers at the door. It’s so obvious that Dustin cares about Steve, really cares about him, and trusts him and loves him in the kind of way he wishes he felt from his biological family. 

Could he even begin to explain to Dustin what exactly is going on in his head? Could he… could he tell some of his secrets?

“Yeah, Dustin,” Steve finally croaks. His voice is thick with emotion, like he hasn’t used it in ages. “Yeah, I know I can talk to you. Just- not tonight, dude. Okay?”

“As long as you’re okay,” Dustin tells him.

And Steve - he loves this kid. Dustin really is the little brother he never got to have. He’s so glad he met him.

“Yeah, I… I’m not okay right now, but I’ll get there.”

Dustin takes a deep breath, nods once, and turns for his house. “You better pick me up for the movie tomorrow, Stevie!” he calls over his shoulder.

Steve laughs gently, the sound of it a little wet, and shakes his head. “You can count on it, Dusty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Do you have any theories on where I'm taking this fic? Please let me know what you think in a comment below!


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